


Queer Eye: Quentin Beck Edition

by raspberriesnchocolate



Series: Mysterio the unhappy hero, aka Quentin Beck isn’t a super villain, just a grouch [2]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Good Guy Quentin Beck, Haircuts, I mean it, Peter Parker is a nerd, Platonic Relationships, Quentin has a gelmet, Tony Stark is forcing friendship on Quentin Beck, Tony doesn’t like it, we all been knew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-10-06 17:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberriesnchocolate/pseuds/raspberriesnchocolate
Summary: Tony really, really, wants Quentin to lighten up a little. He thinks the gel must trap the negativity inside. Besides, Tony’s made of money and is an expert in blowing off meetings, what better way to spend his time and cash than to give his favorite grumpy employee a makeover?Peter’s finally made an appearance, too!(Can be read without the previous work, but I recommend you do!)(Temporarily on hiatus)





	1. Bribing Mr. Beck

Quentin wondered if Stark thought he was some sort of charity case. The man had been visiting him for a week, dropping in for hours at a time to harass Quentin.

Quentin liked to believe that he was annoyed, but Stark was good company when he wasn’t running his mouth about things that Quentin didn’t care about.

“When was the last time you dressed fancy?” Stark drawled, legs swinging from where he was perched on Quentin’s desk.

Quentin was silent, lips pressed in a thin line. His teeth gnashed against the lollipop in his mouth, and a crunch was his response to Stark’s question.

Tony cringed at the noise. “Okay, Q, first rule- we do  _ not  _ bite lollipops.”

Quentin bit down again just to spite him, and then, after a few beats, muttered, “graduation.”

Tony blinked. “The last time you wore a suit was for  _ graduation? _ ”

Quentin spat the lollipop stick at him, turning back around to type something into the computer. Tony narrowed his eyes and peeled the stick off of where it had landed on his shoe.

Oh, no, Tony was  _ not  _ going to let this slide.

“How old are you, Q?”

Quentin froze, pausing for a moment as if he needed to count.

“I’ll be thirty-one on the 8th. Also, my  _ name  _ is Quentin.” Quentin answered curtly, blue tongue poking out in concentration as he added a new string of code.

Tony blinked, ignoring the second sentence. Quentin did  _ not  _ look thirty. With his long hair slicked back, not to mention the blazers and turtlenecks he insisted on wearing and the perpetual grouchiness, Quentin gave off the air of somebody in their mid-thirties going through a divorce. Tony clicked his tongue. This wouldn’t do.

“When was the last time you had a haircut, Q?” Tony asked, snatching a lollipop from the basket and unwrapping it.

Quentin turned, eyes narrowed. “Why do you need to know? I hardly see how this is imp-” Tony placed the butterscotch sucker in Quentin’s mouth, cutting him off.

“I think you’d look great with short hair. By the way, do you have a suit? The Stark Industries Company Ball is coming up, and I don’t think I’ve seen you attend one. If you haven’t dressed up since graduation, you probably haven’t,” Tony rambled.

Quentin spat the sweet out at Stark, a flicker of vindication passing through his eyes when it stuck to Tony’s expensive looking blazer. “I don’t like butterscotch, and-“

“ _ Liar-“ _

“-and I haven’t any need for a suit,” Quentin said carefully.

“So you don’t have one,” Tony replied.

“....” Quentin was quiet for a few more beats, eyes tracking the lollipop that was slowly peeling off of Tony’s blazer. “...  _ graduation. _ ”

“Ok, absolutely not, nope,” Tony stood up, brushing off his pants and pointing at Quentin.

“What do you even  _ spend  _ your paycheck on? You don’t spend it on clothes, do you? No, obviously not, look at you,” Quentin made an affronted noise, pushing Tony’s finger down.

Quentin squinted at Tony. “Bills. For my house.”

“No, you don’t have a house. You live in an apartment. I pay you enough for a house, what’s the deal with that?”

Quentin’s lips were pressed in a thin line. “I don’t spend money needlessly.”

Tony still looked disbelieving, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hey, J, what’s Q been shopping for online recently?”

JARVIS replied dutifully. “Nothing.”

Quentin shrugged. “I told you,” he said simply, turning back around to work.

Tony squinted. Quentin seemed utterly unbothered, so there was definitely something wrong. If Quentin was unbothered, then he was surely bothered because there was  _ always  _ something wrong.

The tapping of keys filled the room, and Tony got up, walking to move directly next to Quentin. 

Quentin paused in his typing, looking up at Tony through his lashes in a glare. “If you’re about to ask me something and it  _ doesn’t  _ have to do with work…” He trailed off, blue eyes positively frosty. Luckily, Tony didn’t mind the cold.

“Fine, I won’t ask.” Tony grumbled, grabbing Quentin’s wrist and pushing up his sleeve to see his veins.

“What. What are you doing?” Quentin hissed, not pulling his hand back.

  
“Oh, you have both blue and green veins! Purple too, whaddya know?”

“Stark,” Quentin snatched his wrist back, looking at his veins. “Is that important?”

“You look good in any color, Q-ball, that’s pretty important. Veins normally show that sort of thing,”

“I don’t wear too much color. The only time I do is when I wear the sweaters…” Quentin didn’t finish, not willing to say out loud that he liked the sweaters that Tony bought him. In fact, they were probably the nicest clothes he owned.

“Aw, you’re so adorable,” Tony crooned, tapping Quentin on the nose and taking out his phone.

“Anyway, I want you to attend the company ball this year,” he said, typing something into his phone. Quentin couldn’t see, but he was looking at suits, debating which one would look best on his turtleneck-loving employee.

“No,” Quentin said, leaving no room for argument. Unfortunately for him, Tony was an expert in making himself room to argue, so he breezed right by it.

“Yes,” He snipped back, eyeing Quentin’s hair.

“Can I take you to get a haircut? Let’s go, I know just the-“

“Stark, no!” Quentin asserted, slapping Tony’s hand away from his hair.

“Stark,  _ yes,”  _ Tony said, ushering Quentin up. “Come on, you look so shady with your hair like that!”

“No I don’t! It’s convenient!”

“I don’t care, you have fantastic hair and you torture everyone around you by denying it and forcing it into that gelmet.” Tony said, knocking his fist against Quentin’s head, making a clicking noise as if he had knocked on wood.

“Having shorter hair would be inconvenient, it would fall in my eyes while I worked and would require high maintenance daily.” Quentin argued, digging in his heels. Tony groaned theatrically, reaching up to pat Quentin’s face.

“High maintenance? I know for a fact that you shave daily, it’s not like doing your hair would add much to the routine,”

Quentin blinked, affronted. “How do you know that?” Tony poked his chest in response.

“You have an impressive amount of hair on your chest and arms, I just guessed that you must shave religiously because your face is never  _ not  _ clean,”

During their argument, Tony had somehow herded Quentin through the door.

“I’ll give you 1,000 bucks if you come and get a haircut with me,” Tony bribed. Quentin didn’t budge, backing into the lab.

“No.”

“I’ll give you 2,000 bucks for your  _ project  _ if you come and get a haircut with me,” Tony amended.

Finally, Quentin seemed to give it a bit of thought.

“Just the haircut?” Quentin narrowed his eyes.

Tony knew better than to verbally agree, just dragging Quentin out the door and through the building, calling up Happy to have a ride by the time he was outside.

Quentin regretted being compliant the second he saw his coworkers perk up with the prospect of new gossip.


	2. Beck and the Barber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin’s hair is finally cut, much to Tony’s delight.

The employees stared as Tony shepherded Quentin through the building. There were already rumors flying around because of the baskets that constantly appeared in the break room, and seeing Tony and Quentin together just cemented the idea. 

Tony had his arm hooked with Quentin’s, enthusiastically chatting about this or that. Employees who knew Quentin personally were shocked to see that he wasn’t actively shying away from touch. Quentin didn’t like physical contact with _ anyone. _

The two made their way outside, and Tony opened the car door for Quentin, sliding in after him.

“Happy, take us to Joe the barber, will you? Q here needs some _ real _help.”

Quentin sighed, resisting the urge to hit Stark in front of his chauffeur. The promise of 2,000 dollars for his project was the only thing keeping him going.

Tony turned to Quentin, squinting at his hair. Quentin smoothed it down self-consciously, wincing when he realized that there really _ was _a lot of gel. He didn’t actually know when he had last gotten a haircut.

“Ah, I saw that! Gel feels weird, doesn’t it? I don’t use it, it can be damaging-” Tony chattered for the rest of the short ride, with Quentin eventually breaking and revealing his own routine of lathering his head in gel.

Tony actually laughed at him. Quentin just glared. 

Eventually, they reached their destination, an expensive looking shop that Quentin would never go to voluntarily. 

A man met them at the door, eyeing Quentin’s hair with thinly veiled disdain. Quentin couldn’t help the embarrassed flush that crept up his neck.

Stark finally proved his worth then, sliding in between them and making a few snippy remarks about the man’s receding hairline that wasn’t at all hidden by his elaborate hairstyle, pushing Quentin towards an empty seat while he worked out an appointment on the spot.

It was then that Quentin finally remembered who Stark was. Tony Stark, Iron Man, richest guy in the U.S.A., wasting his time on some random engineer’s haircut.

Quentin breathed a sigh of relief when Stark settled in the chair next to him, intent on yammering during Quentin’s entire haircut.

A kind looking older man approached him, clicking his tongue and turning Quentin’s head back and forth.

“You have lovely bone structure,” Tony crooned from his chair. Quentin glared, saying a sarcastic remark before he could stop himself.

“Thanks, my mother made it for me,” He muttered, flushing a bit when Tony’s mouth dropped open.

“Did you just say a joke? Oh my god, you totally did, woah, holy _ shit _ -” Quentin tried to tune him out again, focusing on anything _ but _the pleased feeling that came with surprising Stark.

Tony rambled for the entirety of the process, actually getting up to follow when Quentin was taken to get the gel washed out of his hair.

“Stark!” He hissed, seeing the man take his phone out and snap a picture while his hair was wet. 

“You look like a cat. An angry, wet, uptight cat,” Tony smiled down at his phone, ignoring the growling that steadily grew louder.

“This was not worth $2,000.” Quentin grumbled, anger fading slightly when Stark offered an extra 500.

“You’re adorable when you’re forced through a haircut.” Tony laughed, content with watching him frown petulantly in his chair.

The man asked him what length he wanted, and Quentin’s eyes flicked towards Stark for help. 

Tony rose to his feet, bouncing over and making vague gestures towards Quentin’s head, talking quickly and using unfamiliar terms.

“You’re gonna look so good, Q, you’re gonna wish you paid _ me _!” Tony enthused, settling back in his chair as the man brought out a set of scissors and devices that Quentin wasn’t familiar with.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Quentin tried to ask the question with his normal vitriol, but his discomfort and unfamiliarity with the situation dampened the acidity somewhat.

Stark cursed, fumbling with his phone and quickly becoming distracted. “Have fun, Q,” he offered, focus completely on the device in his hands. For a moment, Quentin had thought that Stark was going to leave, a spike of panic going through him at the thought.

But Stark scooted lower in his seat, turning so one of his legs dangled off of the chair. Quentin breathed out in relief, allowing himself to relax to the sounds of the scissors.

Around fifteen minutes later, Quentin was done. He shot out his long leg towards Stark, kicking him and startling him enough to look at him.

“Wait, I wanted you to look thirty, not twenty-five!” He cooed, hands twitching with the need to touch his hair. Quentin colored and looked away, muttering a small ‘shut up’ as he observed himself in the mirror.

His hair was short and styled up. He had to agree with Stark, he did look a lot younger. He was distracted from his reflection by the man buzzing around him.

“Can you calm down?” Quentin finally snapped, but Stark kept flitting about, excitedly commenting on all of the angles of Quentin’s face.

“Look at your _ cheekbones,” _ He enthused, clapping his hands together, “do you like it, Q? You should, it looks _ fantastic,” _

“It’s…” Quentin trailed off, tilting his head this way and that in the mirror. “It’s not bad.” He finally decided, crossing his arms and leaning back. Stark grinned wider, before going to pay for the haircut.

“2,500, Stark! Don’t forget!” Quentin shouted after him.

Stark waved a hand in his direction, leaving him alone. Quentin turned back to the mirror, inspecting himself further.

Quentin wouldn’t consider himself a vain person, but looking at himself, he could appreciate how his hair made him look younger, how it did make him look friendlier, like someone who went out to eat places, maybe someone who owned a dog or was normal.

His bone structure _ did _look good, he could admit.

“If you’re done falling in love with yourself, we can go now, Q.” Tony appeared, observing Quentin in the mirror. Almost _ too _thoroughly, considering how the man’s eyes dipped below in a once over that felt a bit too long.

Quentin’s cheeks colored in an embarrassed flush at being caught checking himself out. He rose to his full height and thanked the barber.

“So, Q, gonna ditch the gel? I _ highly _recommend that you do. I bet Susie would want you to, too.”

Quentin blinked. “Who’s Susie?”

Tony looked exasperated. “You’re kidding. Energetic, blonde, about this tall-“ He waved his hand in the air.

Quentin shook his head. “I don’t know who that is, Stark,”

Tony kept going. “Looks at you like _ all _the time, takes the elevator with you even when she’s on the right floor, uses the keurig you fixed- very nice of you, by the way- almost religiously…” Stark trailed off, looking at Quentin with raised brows.

“Wow, you’re _ really _dense,” He muttered. Quentin puffed up, lower lip jutting out in an accidental pout.

“Not like _ that, _ Q, you’re plenty intelligent,” Tony soothed. Quentin’s pout lessened a bit. “You’re just _ blind, _ you’re absolutely _ blind. _”

Quentin blinked quickly, wondering if Tony had found out that he wore contacts. He pondered this for a second before he realized that Stark meant it figuratively.

“I don’t have time for relationships,” he said slowly, mind recalling his college and highschool days that were filled with nothing but studying.

“Yes you do,” Stark argued, ready to bring up how empty Quentin’s schedule was. Not that he stalked the man or anything.

“I disagree. I think _ I _would know, Stark,”

Tony just gave him a look that almost dripped with sass. He even cocked his hip out, resting his hand on it.

“When was the last time you dated- no, when was the last time you were _ interested _ in a woman- in _ anybody?” _

Quentin’s cheeks reddened at the question, mouth fumbling over an answer while his mind raced to recall. When _ had _he last been interested in anybody at all? The seventh grade?

Tony saw right through it, actually groaning in despair. “Q, you’re _ killing _ me, absolutely killing me. What do you _ live for _?”

Quentin answered immediately. “My work.”

Tony sighed and reached over to grasp his shoulder. “Quentin, I promise you that I will get you laid. Girls, guys, robots, anything, anyone, I will get you laid.” He looked solemn in his vow.

Quentin sputtered, shrugging off the hand aggressively. “My work keeps me happy, Stark. You don’t need to- you absolutely _ shouldn’t _ do that,” Quentin suddenly remembered his own acidity. “You gave me a haircut, great, I didn’t agree to _ anything else. _”

Tony just sighed and shook his head, leading him out of the store.

“It’s not that I _ need _ to, it’s that I _ want _to,” Tony insisted, herding Quentin into the car.

Quentin almost felt offended when Happy took a double-take at the sight of him. 

“Looking good, Beck.” The man said, turning back to face the road. Quentin bit the inside of his cheek, muttering a thank-you. Had he ever told the chauffeur his last name?

Tony was silent, putting him on edge. He turned to see the man scrolling through a list.

He squinted, leaning closer to read the title.

_ Shit to do for Q _

_ Raise (done) _

_ Wardrobe (done) _

_ Haircut (done) _

Quentin made an affronted noise, not reading the rest. “Stark, what the hell is that list?” He hissed, finding familiar footing in being mad at Tony.

“You can read, Q,” The man murmured, typing in a new line for the list.

_ Get him laid _

“Stark!” He yelped, snatching the phone from him. A few taps later and the line was gone.

Quentin held the phone out for Tony. “Don’t you dare add it again,” He said, voice wavering with embarrassment. How the hell could Tony be so nonchalant about his sex life?

Tony looked at his outstretched hand, not taking the phone. Quentin just put it down on the seat for him to take.

“If you insist,” Stark finally said, snatching the phone from the seat. Quentin just nodded, waiting for the man to get distracted before reaching up and touching his hair. It was soft, and felt nice.

Tony watched him out of the corner of his eye, lip quirking up a bit at the suspicion in Quentin’s features, as if the new style was nefarious in some way.

He wasn’t exactly sure _ why _he was doing all this; buying what was essentially a stranger things that said stranger didn’t want. Happy had asked him what made him obsessed after a rant about lollipops, to which Tony had replied, “Good question!”

The sweaters had been a thank-you for helping him out, but the repeated gift-baskets, dropping in way too often, and the haircut…

Tony wasn’t sure why he liked Quentin Beck.

In contrast to Tony’s interest, Quentin remained mostly stoic towards his attention. Maybe that was why?

When Tony accidentally approached the subject of how Quentin cared for him during a nightmare, the man had responded with nothing but honesty.

“You control my paycheck.”

And that was that. It fascinated him, seeing how Quentin just absolutely _ didn’t _care about Tony or anybody else. All he cared for was his work.

Tony sighed and told JARVIS to add 2,500 dollars to Quentin Beck’s project, typing in an extra zero, because really, who would stop him?

Quentin brightened. Tony hummed thoughtfully, looking at Quentin. The man really did care about his work…

“Hey Q,” he began, “your holograms, they can do people, right? Like people that exist and stuff?” Quentin nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Could you make one of me? Have me walk around, make people think I’m doing things.” Tony leaned forward. Quentin didn’t even look annoyed at the callous request. His eyes widened a bit, and he turned, posture confident.

“I can make _ anything _ with my holograms.” He said, looking even more animated than when he was angry with Tony (which was a _ lot _).

“Anything, huh.” Tony said, taken aback by just how enthusiastic Quentin was becoming.

“People, places, things that exist and things that _ don’t _, reality can be controlled and designed as I will it to be!” Tony understood the passion now. Quentin was always bothered by things that went wrong, that control freak. A world where everything went as he wished would be heaven to him.

“Well, what _ do _you want to create?”

Quentin deflated suddenly, as if he hadn’t thought too deeply about it."

“I- I’m unsure. I’m more focused on the ability to create than any particular creation itself.

Tony leaned back. “What’s the perfect world for Quentin Beck? Lollipops, working keurigs, no bothersome bosses harassing you everyday?”

Quentin chewed his lip in thought. “I suppose I would- I guess I would create places I’ve never been to. Empty illusions, so I can experience them without people around.”

Tony laughed. “A world alone? Sounds like you- you’d explore places without anyone to keep you company?”

Quentin nodded, but his eyes lingered on Tony before turning to the front.

“Maybe not alone.” The man said, crossing his arms and looking out the window.

It might’ve been the stop sign reflecting onto his face, but Tony could swear he could see red creeping into Quentin’s cheeks, dimpled by a tiny smile.

Tony felt himself grin, turning to look out his own window, pretending not to preen at the lingering gaze.

  
  
  
  
  


“Maybe not alone,” Quentin repeated quietly in his lab, fingers twiddling with the edge of his green sweater, staring at his screen.

_ Funding: +250,000 _

His lips quirked up in a smile, and ungelled hair tickled his brow as he let his head hang in exhaustion. The world would feel a whole lot emptier without Stark, he thought.

”Maybe not alone,” Tony agreed from his own lab from where he was watching the surveillance cameras.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I do one where Peter somehow meets our favorite grouch? Tony’ll be so jealous.


	3. Mrs. Beck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin wouldn’t call himself a momma’s boy. He wouldn’t call himself a papa’s boy, either. He’s a hardly anybody’s boy.

Quentin stretched, spine popping loudly in the empty lab. He was the only one around today. His hair fell in front of his eyes, reminding him that he needed to style it up. 

Unfortunately, the haircut wasn’t as much of a nuisance as he had hoped, so that was one thing he couldn’t complain to Tony about. Fortunately, he still had tons of other things that he could blame Tony on.

He wasn’t sure when _ Stark _ had become _ Tony, _but the man seemed to enjoy it, and Quentin couldn’t deny that the man’s first name rolled off his tongue easier than his last.

His newest illusion was finished. Tony’s question about what he would create spurred it on. The holograms projected Berlin on a pleasant day. The sun shone, big white clouds billowed across the sky, and best of all, the city was empty.

Streets stayed empty, devoid of any tourists, and the walkways stayed open with no vehicles or pedestrians clogging them up.

Quentin didn’t know why he had chosen Berlin. It wasn’t particularly technologically advanced, nor was it the easiest to navigate. Perhaps because his mother had talked about it when he was younger, always wistful, promising him that one day, they’d run away there and get a house and meet her parents, integrating themselves in the community and-

Quentin never remembered the rest, because his father would stumble in, shouting at his family for doing something wrong, for being too loud, or for fancying expensive trips that would end up fruitless.

“Berlin!” The man would scoff, muttering something in German before clapping Quentin heavily on the shoulder with hands that smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol.

“No son of mine will go off to that tourist trap! All the effort to move to this city, and you want to take him back to Berlin…” Quentin would catch the downcasted glance of his mother and try to smile. She wouldn’t smile back. 

Perhaps it was his environment that made him so eager to succeed. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, recalling late nights studying when his father would burst in his room and see him bent over a book. The faint approval and grunt of encouragement was like water to Quentin. He craved it, he needed it, he did everything in his power to get it when he could.

Approval, he mused, approval was what he spent his money on.

Sending his father large sums of money monthly was commonplace. Every last Wednesday of the month, he would visit his parents at home and hand his father a check addressed to Ernest Beck. His mother would watch, a facade of pride in her eyes, along with something else.

His father would laugh heartily, clapping him on the back with hands that still smelled of smoke and beer. He would greedily snatch the envelope from Quentin, shoving it in his back pocket without a thank-you. The most that he had ever given was a vague “That’s my boy.”

Quentin’s hands played with the edge of his sweater, the soft green reminding him of his mother’s eyes. Nowadays, they pleaded with him. Quentin wasn’t sure what they were asking him to do.

His nails frayed the fabric as a memory popped up, unbidden.

“My dear,” his mother held his head in her trembling fingers. Fingers that trembled from exhaustion, from being forced to work to support Ernest’s bad habits. “One day, you will leave this house, and on that day, I will be proud. For now, work hard, and keep your head up.”

Well, he thought bitterly, he had left the house, yet her pride remained unseen. He had aced highschool, done well in college, and supported himself and his parents easily, so why did she never smile? Why did she never hold him like she used to, frail arms wrapping around him while reassurances flowed from her lips?

At some point, the sweater had slipped from his fingers, and his nails dug into the meat of his palms hard enough to break the skin. If not for his callouses, he would have bled.

How inconvenient.

It was Monday, so he would give his father money in two days.

Quentin caught his reflection in his black monitor screen. A tall, proud, distinguished looking man looked back.

The haircut really did change him. He looked more like an individual, now. He had always slicked his hair back because that’s what his father did, not wanting to waste money on frivolous things such as appearance. 

The monitor reflected his sweater, the finely made gift softer than anything that he owned. A gift from Tony.

Tony had given him a gift because he had the capacity to, because he wanted to, because he had wanted to see Quentin happy, and didn’t know how to achieve it other than throw money at him.

Quentin had never considered what he could give Tony in return. Gifts were not his forte, but they seemed easy enough.

His mother’s face was in the monitor for a moment. He never gave his mother any money, but he assumed that his father used it for both of them.

Why wouldn’t he?

Doubt crept into his mind, and Quentin abruptly stood. Loyalty to his father had been forced into him from a young age, and his father had done _ nothing wrong. _

He needed coffee. Fatigue was addling his senses.

Quentin powered off his machines and headed to the break room, hoping that no one would be occupying it.

He almost cursed when he saw a familiar woman at the coffee machine. She wasn’t even making anything. Quentin didn’t want to accidentally sneak up on her, so he winced and called out.

“Good afternoon,” his mind raced for her name, finally recalling Tony’s small ramble, “Susie.”

Susie whirled around in surprise, eyes widening comically at the sight of him. “Beck!” She appraised his hair. “Beck.” She repeated, shock and something else pitching her voice higher.

She was still blocking the keurig.

Quentin walked closer. “I just needed to get some coffee…” He explained, motioning to the machine.

“Oh!” Susie moved off to the side, just enough for Quentin to reach over for a keurig cup, grabbing a paper cup afterwards.

Susie lingered by him while he prepared his coffee.

“You got a haircut.” She said, and Quentin nodded. “I did.”

Silence followed his confirmation. It was _ so _awkward, Quentin wanted to leave, but the machine was working.

The sputter of the keurig only heightened the uncomfortable atmosphere. Susie wasn’t helping, her intense stare keeping him tense.

Quentin didn’t know how to start small talk, much less small talk with a _ woman. _

He tried to remember the last conversation he had had with a woman that wasn’t a child with a lollipop and a devil for a cat.

His mother was a woman.

“What’s a good gift for a mother?” He blurted out, immediately wanting to plunge his whole body in boiling water. That wasn’t casual at _ all. _

“Excuse me?” Susie asked curiously, tilting her head in such a way that reminded Quentin of a cat. Quentin didn’t much like cats.

“My mother,” He continued awkwardly. “I want to get her a gift, but I’m unsure as to what she would like.”

Susie’s eyes didn’t soften as much as they just _ un- _widened. “That’s so sweet, Beck, for you to get her a gift.”

Her eyes brightened again. “Oh, well, as for gifts, well…”

Quentin waited impatiently for her to answer, just wanting the conversation to end so he could _ leave. _

“...I think- well… If _ I _was her, I might like jewelry, or flowers… a nice dinner….” Susie trailed off, turning pink, which clashed horribly with her fake blonde hair.

“Dinner…?” Quentin squinted. “That sounds more like- well, she might appreciate it anyway.”

Susie suddenly grabbed his arm, and Quentin’s lip almost curled knowing that her sweat and the oil of her skin was rubbing off on his sweater, _ Tony’s _sweater. 

“Any special lady in your life would _ love _having dinner with you, Quen- Beck.”

Quentin’s eyes widened, heat creeping up his neck in embarrassment when he finally realized what she was implying. 

Tony’s yammering echoed in his brain.

_ “Looks at you like all the time, takes the elevator with you even when she’s on the right floor, uses the keurig you fixed- very nice of you, by the way- almost religiously…” _

Oh no.

“Good to know. Thanks,” Quentin hastily extracted himself from the break room, nearly running back to his lab in a panic, not noticing Susie sigh and wish him goodbye.

He flushed harder every time he saw a security camera. Tony would never let him live this down.

He placed his mug on his desk, sinking into his chair with a sigh.

God, he really _ was _dense.

  
  
  
  


Tony strolled into Quentin’s lab. Quentin didn’t spare him a single glance.

“Q, I think I’m gonna learn how to mix drinks, and you’re gonna do it with me. Won’t that be a fun bonding experience, two dudes drinking their souls away-”

“Where do you get the sweaters you buy me? Do they carry female sizings?” Quentin interrupted. Tony looked a bit put out at the interruption, used to getting his rambles out as soon as he arrived.

“Rude. I don’t know, JARVIS does my shopping for me. Why? Oho, wait, no. J told me you were talking with Susie in the break room. That fast? Damn, Q, you work fast.”

Quentin shifted in his seat. “No. I need a gift for my mother.”

Tony looked genuinely surprised.

“Huh. That’s sweet of you, I guess. J, do they carry female sizes?” JARVIS answered immediately. “They do.”

Tony turned to Quentin. “What size is your mom? What colors does she like?”

Quentin winced. “I don’t know.”

Tony clapped. “I’ll just guess medium. What color do you want her to have?”

Quentin winced again, realizing just how little he knew his mother. “Green,” he answered quietly.

Tony reached over to tap him on the nose. “You adorable son, I’ll have a box in here tomorrow. Sound good?”

Quentin glared but nodded his head.

The next day, a box lay on his desk, wrapped in a red ribbon.

Quentin was just grateful that there were no lollipops.

  
  
  


Wednesday rolled around. Quentin stood in front of the familiar door in the afternoon, running a hand through his ungelled hair nervously. Tony had forced him into using something called mousse. It smelled pleasant, and didn’t make his hair hard like gel did.

A box was tucked under his arm. An envelope was in his hand. He finally knocked on the door.

He heard his father yelling at his mother to open the door, and the soft patters of her footsteps approached.

The door opened, and his tiny German mother peered at him in surprise.

“Good evening,” He greeted, walking inside. His father was on the couch, a beer in his hand. His mother touched his arm cautiously.

“You have short hair,” She observed. Her hand squeezed his arm, and her green eyes flickered down to it. 

“This is a good sweater. Expensive…” She muttered to herself. Quentin nodded, patting her hand and approaching his father. 

Maybe it was because he was sitting, but the man didn’t seem half as intimidating as Quentin remembered. Intimidating was the face of Pepper Potts when she found Tony hiding in Quentin’s lab. Intimidating was when Tony held his hand out, pieces of his suit assembling on his body. Intimidating was when Tony turned around with his Iron Man helmet on, telling Quentin that he had to go.

His father brightened at the sight of him, heaving to his feet and hugging Quentin hard. Beer filled his nose, and a peek over the man’s shoulder showed the ashtray filled with cigarettes.

Quentin patted his father’s back, pulling away and handing him the check. It was higher than normal because of the raises and bonuses that Tony had granted him. Ernest noticed, eyebrows raising to his receding hairline.

“This is more,” The man said suspiciously. Quentin forced a smile. “Raise,” he answered curtly.

His father chortled and shuffled to his room to put the check in his wallet.

Quentin turned to his mother. “Mutter,” he began. His mother turned to him, tilting her head.

“Mutter, I have something for you.” He said. His mother looked more surprised than ever.

Quentin hefted the box onto the table, gesturing for his mother to open it.

A soft green sweater lay inside, identical to Quentin’s favorite sweater. He wore a maroon one at the moment, but he had chosen the green simply because he thought it looked the best.

In the back of his head, he knew that it was probably his favorite because it was the first sweater that Tony had given him.

“This is for me?” His mother asked, looking near reverent at the clothing.

“Try it on,” He urged, leaning forward. His knee bumped hers, and he watched as she carefully took the sweater out of the box. 

She took a moment to run her hands over the fabric before slipping it over her head. Quentin stared, perplexed, when she teared up.

“Mutter, are you…?” She nodded her head, covering her face with the sleeves of her sweater. 

“It smells _ nice, _” She said, sounding just as perplexed as he felt.

It was a sweater. The smell of a sweater was enough to move her to tears?

A glance back to the ashtray brought him a more plausible answer. It didn’t smell of smoke and beer. That must be why she cried.

Quentin wasn’t very familiar with crying.

The woman grabbed Quentin’s hand, squeezing it tight with her ever-trembling fingers.

“Thank you, my dear.” She said, bringing his knuckles to her mouth to kiss. He mirrored the action.

“You deserve it,” He said instead of the automatic ‘you’re welcome,’ that formed in his mouth.

She laughed, looking a bit more composed. 

“What’s that?” She asked. Quentin turned to where she was looking. A thin black box lay where the sweater used to be. 

His mother reached for the box, opening it with a gasp.

Quentin almost gasped as well. What was this?

A simple but elegant necklace winked at them from inside the box. Quentin’s lips quirked up.

_ Tony, that insufferable bastard. _

He reached out, unlatching it and turning back to his mother. “It’s for you.”

“I can’t,” She said, leaning back from where he tried to put it on her.

“You deserve it,” He argued, some Stark-style stubbornness leaking in his tone.

She looked shocked enough to stay still, and Quentin carefully latched it around her thin neck. “There,” he said.

Her hand came up to touch it carefully.

Quentin heard his father snore loudly from the bedroom. He must’ve fallen asleep. Quentin normally didn’t stick around long enough to see where his father went after taking the check.

“Mutter, come with me. Let’s have dinner.” He said impulsively. Why did he say that? He never ate in public anyway.

“My dear, it’s too much. I’m in house clothes.” His mother argued, but he swore he saw her stern frown twitch upwards.

“No, you’re not, look.” He tugged on her sleeve. Her mouth twitched, and her eyes slid to the hallway, where Ernest snored loudly.

“Okay,” She agreed quietly. Quentin felt warmth in his chest, rising to his feet and helping her up. She hooked her thin arm in his as he led her to his car.

“You have a good car,” She observed. Quentin realized that she did not know how to drive. She had never been taught. He didn’t want to think about it too hard.

“Does Italian sound okay? I didn’t quite plan this,” He rambled, not noticing the small smile growing on his mother’s face.

“There’s a small restaurant nearby, family owned. It’s not too expensive, so we won’t look out of place.” He continued. 

Emily looked at her son, wondering what brought about the change. He was warmer now, more alive. He looked like he had more on his mind than just his work. 

“Do you have a woman, dear?” She asked.

Quentin huffed. “No,” He said, not sounding embarrassed in the slightest. “Why?”

“You are happy,” She answered.

“Oh.” He said, shrugging, “I’m glad to be with you. I haven’t done this before.”

“Yes,” she agreed, before looking at her son with a tilted head. “Do you have a man, then?”

Quentin swerved for a moment, earning a chorus of honks. “_ Mutter!” _

Emily was unfazed. “That is not a yes or a no.”

Quentin coughed. “I don’t have a man _ or _ a woman, Mutter…” He paused, before in a lower voice, as though he were confiding something secret, “I have a new friend.”   


Emily smiled, glad to hear the news. “Are they nice?”

Quentin didn’t hesitate, spilling the secret in a flood of words, happy to ramble about his new friend with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Emily recalled when he was a child, when he could talk and talk and talk, before he cared only for success and closed up like a house boarding up its windows before a storm.

“No, he’s very annoying. He doesn’t know when to leave me alone, and even though he’s incredibly intelligent, he is one of the stupidest men I have ever met. He’s rude, and callous, and is very irresponsible. He misses important things on purpose.” he said proudly.

“What is his name?”

Quentin smiled, startling his mother. She had forgotten how her son looked when he smiled. He looked like her own father, with her mother’s dimple on his cheek.

She adored his smile because he looked nothing like his father when he smiled.

“His name is Tony. He’s the worst.” There was something familiar in that first name, perhaps a coworker that her son had mentioned?

Before she could ask for a last name, they arrived at a tiny Italian restaurant. She had Quentin order for her, since she didn’t recognize any of the names.

They enjoyed their dinner, not talking too much, just enjoying the food and company.

Quentin made a mental note to thank Susie.

The drive home was comfortable, and Quentin wondered if he was imagining how warm his mother was being.

When Quentin walked her back to the door, she grabbed his hand, looking into his eyes deeply.

“I’m proud of you, my dear,” She said, before kissing his knuckles in a goodbye.

Quentin stood, absolutely stunned as the door closed in his face.

His vision blurred, staring at the familiar door.

He was crying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t true to canon, but I heard that the name Beck is Germanic, so yeah. I didn’t dare use more German in this because google translate can only do so much.


	4. Beck and the Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin doesn’t like kids. After this, he decides that he might like one.

Of all the things that Tony brought into his workspace, the last thing Quentin expected was for the man to dump  _ Spider-Man  _ into his lab.

Quentin tapped at his keys, debating whether or not it was overkill to add extra sounds to an illusion. 

The scuffing of expensive shoes sounded out in the mostly quiet lab.  _ Tony. _

Quentin turned, ready to ask if he should add noises, when the sound died in his throat.

Tony had brought Spider-Man to his lab.

“...Tony, what’s this- why is…” Quentin floundered, caught between annoyance and awe, even if Spider-Man was a little…  _ shorter  _ than he had anticipated.

“Spider-Boy, meet Q. Q’s my favorite employee in this cursed industry. Q, meet Spider-Boy, he’s gonna be hanging out in SI a lot, now.”

Quentin blinked, getting out of his seat to greet the newcomer.

He held his hand out. “Hello, my name is Quentin.”

Spider-Man shook his hand enthusiastically. “I’m Peter-  _ Spider-Man. I’m Spider-OW!”  _

Tony had whacked  _ Peter _ on the back of the head. 

“The whole point of the mask is to not let people know who you- whatever. Quentin won’t tell.” Tony grumbled, shooting Quentin a help-me look. Quentin just blinked at him, unimpressed with the young superhero as much as the old one. Not that Tony was  _ old,  _ but he wasn’t- well. 

Quentin steered his attention back to the pair.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark.” Peter apologized.

Tony sighed. “Well, since you’ve already outed yourself, might as well take the mask off.” Peter scrambled to take off the mask, revealing-

“You’re a child.” Quentin said, surprised. Tony scoffed. “Yeah, I know right? And yet he calls himself  _ Man.  _ Look how clean his face is!”

“I’m not a  _ child-” _

“Yeah, you are-”

Quentin squinted at the pair. “Is there a reason why you brought him here, Tony?”

Tony snapped. “Oh, yeah! Can you make him a portable hologram for when he changes in alleyways and to hide his backpack? His aunt told me he’s lost at least three-”

“Those weren’t my fault, Mr. Quentin, I-”

“Changing in  _ alleyways?”  _ Quentin felt a headache coming on. Tony had a gift for phrasing things badly. 

The two blinked brown eyes at him, and Quentin wondered at the striking similarity of the two. They were both short, too, with Quentin towering over them both like an adult with two children. With how Tony acted and with Peter’s physical age, Quentin estimated that the comparison wasn’t too far off.

“Tony, you’re essentially asking me to make a cloaking device. That’s a little out of my area of expertise.” Quentin made a broad gesture to his lab.

Tony rolled his eyes, sliding to his desk, where his monitor was still plugged in.

“Q, if you can do this-” Tony activated the holograms, and Berlin appeared around them, making Peter gasp in surprise and awe. “-then a cloaking device would be a piece of cake for you. Besides, don’t act like you aren’t bored with your current project.”   
  


Quentin felt himself waver. It was true, he had been adding details to the same hologram for two weeks. His interest was dwindling.

“Ah! I saw that look! Great, you can work on it now. Pete, I need to go to a meeting, behave for Q, will you?” Tony patted Peter on the shoulder and made his way to the door.

“Mr. Stark-”

“I am no  _ babysitter-” _

“Bye, have fun, kids!” And Tony was gone.

Quentin stared at the open door, hearing those expensive shoes squeak against the floor. He couldn’t help but sigh, turning to the teenager.

“I’ll just need your measurements, probably. You don’t really need to be here for the rest of the process.”

Peter, left in a new place with no allies, suddenly looked scared. “Wh- do you not want me here, sir?” There was fear and also a tiny bit of sadness in his tone, inciting panic in Quentin.

Quentin bit the inside of his cheek, wondering just when his one weakness became tiny brunettes under six feet giving him puppy dog eyes.

“You can stay, if you want,” he gave in to the brown eyes, just as he had with Tony. Peter immediately cheered up, and happily stayed still so Quentin could take his measurements.

Quentin made a vague gesture to Mike’s chair, telling Peter that he could use it if he wanted to.

There were a few minutes of blissful silence before Peter succumbed to the Stark curse of not being able to sit still.

Before he could even ask the boy to sit down, Peter was right next to him, eyes sweeping over the blueprints he was sketching out.

“So how does this stuff work, Mr. Quentin?”

Quentin huffed but didn’t shoo him away, assuming from previous experience that it would be a futile effort.

“Just Quentin. And it’s photo-manipulation, pretty standard if I get it right,” Quentin resisted going off on a tangent, since Peter was only a kid and would probably become bored or not understand what he was talking about.

Peter wandered to a projector, poking and prodding it with surprising gentleness. Quentin tensed, hoping that the boy wouldn’t somehow break the whole thing.

“Photo-manipulation… You use these projectors here, right? But the dimensions would totally blur, unless you-  _ oh!  _ You manage to control the light from fading as it ends by having it collide with another ray from different angles… That’s clever, but how would you stop it from being blocked by an opaque object? Oh, that’s why there’s so many, right?”

Quentin felt his jaw drop, if only a tiny bit.

“That’s-”

“And the cloaking device would, essentially, be using the same technology to reverse the effect, to make it seem as if there was nothing instead of an object that- oh. Sorry. I tend to…” Peter made a vague gesture, apologizing for rambling a bit.

Quentin wanted to hide under his desk, bombarded by the familiarity. A brown-haired boy, going off on a tangent about complex sciences that he had no business knowing about, only to stop, expected to be punished for simply  _ knowing things. _

It was  _ him. _

Quentin couldn’t help but indulge the boy as no one had indulged  _ him  _ when he went off on long rants.

“Never apologize for being the smartest one in the room.” Peter broke out into a grin, and Quentin hated himself for feeling his heart warm up.

He blamed Tony for his newfound empathy.

“Thanks. But, I can’t be the smartest, you’ve made all this- this  _ stuff.” _

Quentin felt his lips quirk up in amusement. “I’ve got the resources. I bet if you had half of the stuff I can access here, you’d rival Stark in creativity.” In the back of his mind, he wondered what his mother would think of Peter. She’d love him, for sure.

Peter flushed in pleased embarrassment. “Okay.” He acquiesced, before walking back to Mike’s chair to take a seat. The chair’s wheels rumbled against the linoleum floor as Peter scooted to Quentin’s desk.

“Is there anyway I can help? I don’t know if I’m too good with code- that’s more Ned’s strength- but I’m not useless!”   
  


Quentin paused in his typing, eyeing the teenager. “Well, what can you do?”

Peter flushed. “Well, I’m strong! A-and I’m sticky.” 

Quentin stopped typing completely to turn and stare at Peter in bafflement. “Excuse me?”

Peter’s whole face went red. “No! I mean- well, I-  _ here.”  _ Peter reached out, placing a single finger on a tablet. When he lifted his finger, the tablet moved with it.

“Is there no other way to describe what you just did?” Quentin asked dryly, relieved that ‘sticky’ was exactly what it sounded like.

“Well… I’ve never really had to explain it before.” 

“Hm,” Quentin hummed. “You ever sketch out a blueprint?”

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! I designed these web-shooters.” He stuck out his wrists into Quentin’s space, showing off two…  _ things. _

“Ah. So that’s how you swing around?”

“Yup! It’s really fun, but for a while I couldn’t get turns so I left footprints on a lot of buildings by having to land on the side and jump to the other side since I didn’t know how to swing in any direction other than  _ forward.”  _ Peter enthused, giving Quentin a few seconds to digest what he had just said.

“Huh. So what happens to the webs once you let go? Do they just hang there until someone gets it off, or do they dissolve, or what?”

Peter opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“I… I didn’t realize I didn’t take them down… Oh.”

Quentin bit his cheek again, resisting the urge to ask if any birds had been tangled up in the substance. He had a feeling Peter wouldn’t react positively.

“Well, anyway, do you think you could start on some concept art? Something lightweight to take with you… The lens is really the most important part, but…”

The two set to work, and Quentin was struck by how  _ well  _ they worked together. Peter was obedient, worked fast and hard, and was willing to change things if asked. He also wasn’t afraid to ask Quentin questions.

Mike had nothing on Peter. Maybe Quentin could get Peter to work at SI with him? It’d certainly make working less stressful.

Within an hour, they had a design for one of two projectors Quentin was going to create for Peter. They took a break afterwards. 

“Want coffee? The break room’s close, just a few floors away.”

Peter stood, before looking down at the spandex of his suit. Quentin winced, looking around. There was a box under a desk, and he immediately knew what was in it. 

He pointed to it. “You can grab a sweater from there to cover up. The pants won’t stick out much.”

Peter curiously looked through the box. “There’s a lot of lollipops in here.”

Quentin felt a wry smile grow on his lips. “Yeah, Tony’s too generous.”

Peter paused in his rifling, looking at Quentin confusedly. “Mr. Stark gave you these?”

Quentin shrugged. “The lollipops are probably impossible to count. As for the sweaters, he’s given me no less than forty, at this point. Just take whatever you’d like.”

Oddly enough, Quentin didn’t mind the idea of Peter taking a sweater. Perhaps it was the fond exasperation he spotted in Tony’s body language when he accidentally revealed himself, or the way Peter was all-too similar to a younger Quentin Beck, or the fact that Peter had an awkward but natural charisma about him. 

Whatever it was, Quentin doubted he would miss one sweater.

Peter eventually settled for a blue raspberry dum-dum and a plum-colored sweater, shrugging it on over his spider-suit.

The two made their way to the break room, and Quentin tensed, wondering how many times he would run into Susie in one week. He didn’t even know what she  _ did,  _ other than hang out in the break room at every given moment.

“Oh, hello, Beck! Who’s this?” Susie regarded Peter curiously, and Quentin shifted a bit to block the boy from her sight.

“This is...“ Quentin glanced at the boy. “An intern. I’m showing him around.” Peter made a vague noise to affirm his lie, not making eye contact and sticking close to Quentin.

Susie hummed, before squinting, craning her neck to look beyond Quentin at Peter. “Is that your sweater?”

Quentin shrugged. “Tony bought it. He’s a giving man.” 

At some point, Peter had shuffled to hide almost completely behind Quentin, clenched fists hidden by the sleeves of the too-big sweater. Quentin wanted to turn and give him a look. Somehow, Peter was giving Quentin secondhand social anxiety.

“He buys a lot of things for you…” Susie said, looking a bit dejected. Quentin didn’t answer. Susie shook her head.

“Anyway, I was just going. Bye, Quen- Beck, intern,” And Susie was gone. Peter shuffled out from Quentin’s shadow, exploring the room casually as if he hadn’t reverted to a toddler in the presence of a stranger.

“What was that?” Quentin asked, amusement warring with annoyance in his tone.

Peter flushed, determined to look anywhere but at Quentin. “Nothing.”

Quentin sighed, but approached the keurig. “Would you like a coffee?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m okay,”

Quentin rolled his eyes good-naturedly, grabbing a cookie and handing it to Peter. “Teenagers eat a lot,” He offered.

Peter blinked before munching on the sweet, having finished his sucker in record time. Quentin was glad to know he wasn’t the only one to bite hard candy. Quentin finished up with his coffee, adding the appropriate amount of sugar and cream.

“How long have you been working here?”

Quentin swallowed. “Got an internship in college, started right after. I hadn’t met Tony until this year.”

Quentin assessed Peter. “I assume being a hero doesn’t pay your bills. Why don’t you work here? Get an internship, I’m sure he’d let you.”

Peter sputtered a bit. “I’m- I’m kinda busy. Besides, Aunt May thinks I’ve already got one. Mr. Stark says my internship  _ is  _ Spider-Man. I wish I had time for it, though, it seems fun. Gosh, Ned would love it here…”

The more Quentin observed the boy, the more he could pick out the similarities and differences of Tony and Peter.

Peter was still bashful and unsure, whereas Tony could yammer on for hours about anything with confidence laced in every syllable.

Quentin shrugged. “If the whole Spider-Man thing ends up turning sour, my lab’s always open.” He didn’t think he’d said that  _ ever.  _ Even to Tony, but then again, the man wouldn’t care either way.

Peter grinned. “Thanks, sir.”

Quentin nodded.

“What’s this? Is that a  _ smile?  _ Pete, you made him  _ smile?  _ He’s known you for a day! That’s- I’m suing.” Tony burst into the room, announcing his presence with a stream of steady chatter.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Stark!” Peter fumbled through a greeting. Quentin put down his coffee for one second, unprepared for when Tony flounced over, grabbing it and taking a few (half the cup) sips.

“Hm, Quentin, you use a surprising amount of sugar in your coffee. Hey, is that your sweater?”

Quentin shrugged, glaring at the near-empty mug. “I have a lot.”

Tony hummed. “Yeah, I guess. So how’s the cloak going? Can Pete change in alleyways in peace or what?”

Quentin scowled. “Stop phrasing it like that. He’s a kid. The blueprints are pretty much finished.”

Tony nodded, pleased with their progress.

“Just in time, too, ‘cuz he needs to get back to his home and very young aunt now,” Tony beckoned Peter closer.

“He’ll probably come around tomorrow, I’m not sure if I’ll be the one who brings him. Pete, think you can make your way around?”

Pete fumbled. “Uh, what? Not really, well, maybe,”

Quentin sighed and snatched the dum-dum wrapper Peter was fumbling with, taking a pen from his pocket and writing down the information that Peter was struggling with.

“Floor 3, Lab 616.” He said aloud, handing the wrapper back. Peter took it thankfully.

“Okay, time to go. Thanks, Q, I’ll do something nice for you,” Tony promised before slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulder and steering him out of the room.

Quentin watched them go, taking sips of his coffee.

Peter was alright, he decided. He wouldn’t mind seeing the boy again.

Thinking back to how he had unconsciously shielded him, Quentin sighed in annoyance at the new development of his apparent protectiveness. He didn’t even like kids, one could argue he  _ hated  _ them.

Quentin scowled at his empty mug.

It seemed that Tony was changing him a lot, wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating this in a while! School’s for a monopoly on my free time, but it’s here now!  
Quentin had a soft spot for Peter as soon as he realized he was a nerd, this is canon don’t fight me on this  
Idk if I’ll write from Peter’s perspective, since I’ve never written for him before, but I can always try, I guess?  
Again, sorry for the wait, thank you so much for reading!


	5. Quentin's Lesson in Star Wars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds out that Quentin had a lacking childhood, and decides to fix it.

The next day, Peter showed up around noon, complete with a packed lunch of some kind, a sandwich with smushed bread.

“Hey, Quentin- woah, are those more lollipops?” Peter ducked to see a new box next to the one he had found the sweater in the day before, filled to the brim with lollipops.

“Take what you want, Tony gave them to me, I really don’t want them.” Quentin replied, barely glancing up from his computer.

“Awesome! Hey, can I take some for my friends?”

“Go ahead,”

“Uh, Beck, who’s this?”

Quentin startled, then, realizing that Mike was in the room.

“You’re here today?” He asked incredulously.

Mike gave a nervous laugh, eyes darting at Peter. “What? Stop joking around, I’m here all the time.”

Peter immediately closed off a bit, turning so his back was facing Quentin instead of Mike.

“You’re a horrible liar, Mike. This is Peter, don’t harass him or I’ll tell the head of our department that you’ve skipped far more than your share of sick days.”

Mike gaped. “You wouldn’t! We’ve worked together for- c’mon!” He was inching closer to the box of lollipops.

Quentin sighed. “You’re right,” Mike relaxed, “I should just tell Tony.” Mike paled, cursing under his breath. Quentin almost blurted out “language!” since Peter was in the room.

Quentin normally tried not to name drop Tony in conversation, not that he conversed with anybody other than Tony, but right now, he felt a little bitter towards Mike because of how absent the man had been.

Quentin liked to work alone, but lugging metal parts and boxes of wires and tools around was tedious and tiring, which was really the only time Mike could come in handy.

He was broken out of his thoughts when he saw Mike reach towards the box. “Don’t,” He warned with a scowl.

“You just said you didn’t want them!”

“So?”

Peter watched the two, eyes wide and darting between them in confusion. He had backed up so that he was standing next to Quentin’s desk, and he anxiously shifted his weight.

“If you touch the box...” Quentin warned.

Mike scowled.

“Fine, fine. What do we need to do? Need me to design the sounds for France?”

“Berlin. And I did it without you. You came at a very inopportune time, Mike, since I’ve finished it anyway.”

Mike stalled. “So I can leave?”

Quentin smiled with a fake upturn of his lips, flashing his teeth in a near-snarl. “You should.”

Mike wasted no time, grabbing his things and darting out of the lab, a familiar sight.

Peter relaxed when the man’s footsteps died out. “Who was that?”

“My partner, or at least the one SI assigned me. He never pulls his weight around here, since I do most of the work anyways.”   
  


Peter nodded sympathetically. “I get that in group projects.”   
  


Quentin huffed and looked at the box, debating covering it up with a hologram permanently.

“I’ve got the projector pieces together, so we’re gonna have to assemble them today according to the blueprints.”

Peter grinned. “Like Legos?”   
  


Quentin blinked. “What?”

“We’re gonna assemble the pieces together like Legos!” Peter repeated, looking giddy at the thought.

“Ah. I never played with those as a child.” Quentin admitted, wincing at the gobsmacked expression on Peter’s face.

“You’re not  _ that  _ old, are you, sir?” Peter said it quietly, as if being old and diseased were the same thing.

Quentin huffed. “You sound like Tony,”  _ Just more polite. _

Peter flushed, waving his hands about. “No, wait, I didn’t mean it as an insult or- wait, you think I sound like Mr. Stark?”

Quentin quirked a brow at him.

Peter sobered up. “Sorry.”

Quentin rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry about it. I am, indeed, not  _ that  _ old, but I never had Legos growing up for other reasons.”   
  


Peter nodded, before biting his lip, looking like he was making a very difficult decision.

Then, Peter shrugged and pulled out his phone, excitedly showing its cracked screen to Quentin.

“Well, me ‘n’ Ned made this after he dropped it and I had to help him reassemble it-”

On the screen was another boy and Peter holding onto some sphere that looked vaguely like a moon.

“It’s the Death Star. It took, like, really long but it’s done now and it was really fun.” He had the same proud tone that Tony got whenever he talked about his bots.

Quentin blinked down at the screen. “That looks… tedious.”

“Oh, it was!” Peter exclaimed.

Quentin coughed into his hand awkwardly. “Unfortunately, I’m unfamiliar with the Star Wars franchise, so the build itself has no… impact, so to speak.”

Peter looked even more shocked. “Like, you haven’t seen any of the movies?”

Quentin nodded, and Peter gasped aloud. “Oh my gosh, that’s- wow, that’s really-” the boy was beside himself in shock.

Quentin shrugged. “Sorry.”

Peter clapped. “How about we watch it while we work? Can we do that? Oh, we would have to start with the prequels- ew- but once we get to the originals, you’ll like it a lot.”

Quentin blinked. “I don’t have the movies.”

Peter grinned, going over to Mike’s computer and opening a private tab, “That’s okay, Mr. Quentin,” he said as he typed into the search bar.

“123movies?” Quentin narrowed his eyes at the name. “That sounds very… unsafe.”   
  


“No, it’s fine, really.” Peter reassured, typing something into the site’s search bar.

The second the boy hit the search button, a new tab opened.

“‘Hot Russian women waiting to meet you-’” Quentin read aloud, growing more baffled at each word. What the hell was Peter trying to accomplish?

Peter squawked, hastily exiting out of the tab. “Don’t worry about that!”

Silence descended on them for a few more seconds before Peter clicked a few buttons, speedily exiting out of tabs that popped up.   
  


“Ta-da!” Peter crowed, moving away from the screen, which was playing “A New Hope.”

“It has subtitles in Mandarin,” Quentin commented dryly.

Peter shrugged. “Well, it’s free and it’s in HD! Subtitles are no biggie.”

Quentin blinked at Peter a few times, before looking back at the screen, then back to Peter.

“Peter... that’s  _ illegal.” _ Still, he made no move towards the computer, scared that more ‘Russian women waiting to meet you’ would pop up if he even touched the mouse.

“But it’s  _ free.”  _ Peter enthused, clapping his hands together in joy.

Quentin sighed and relented, curious about the film that had Peter willing to break laws for.

The two worked with the occasional comment from Peter, explaining this or that to Quentin, who appreciated it. The projectors were assembled within the second movie, and Quentin debated telling Mike that his computer probably had viruses on it.

He doesn’t use it anyway, Quentin thought to himself, focusing back on the movie.

“Hey Mr. Quentin?” Quentin had lost count of the times he had had to correct Peter.

“Yes?”

“See those hologram communication devices? Could we- well, are they possible to make?”

Quentin looked at the screen. “Well…”

Peter looked hopefully at him.

Quentin sighed. “I mean, yeah. Anything’s possible, but there’d have to be an almost instant feedback, so there’d be a camera somewhere, or.. Huh.” His mind started working, kickstarted by a new idea.

Quentin offered Peter a glance. “If we can finish this soon, we can talk about it afterwards.”

Peter gave him a brilliant grin in response, and Quentin tentatively smiled back.

  
  
  
  
  


“I don’t like this one,” Quentin admitted to Peter fifteen minutes into The Phantom Menace.

“Yeah, but we gotta watch it all in order.” Peter said with a wince. The boy had really opened up to Quentin once the movies started, and Quentin found himself amused by how much Peter loved them.

“In my opinion, Watto should not have stubble. It is disgusting.” Peter commented, gesturing with a screwdriver at the screen, where a hideous creature buzzed around.

“Watto is disgusting, stubble or not.” Quentin argued, delicately putting a wire in place.

Peter hummed. “I dunno, I feel like stubble looks gross on most people.”

“You’re surrounded by teenagers, of course it will look gross on those people. Stubble can be attractive,” Quentin tried to argue, sounding unsure of himself.

“You should grow stubble then,” Peter suggested, a bit petulant.

Quentin opened his mouth to answer. 

“You absolutely  _ should,  _ Q!”

Peter and Quentin turned in tandem to see Tony, who was holding two bags from Burger King.

“Woah, that was weird. Anyway, I, the providing father of the family, has brought home the bacon since JARVIS told me you nerds haven’t left the lab.”

Tony carelessly dumped the bag out onto Mike’s desk, glancing at the screen.

“Q, if you did grow out stubble, which you absolutely should, I guarantee you’d look way better than  _ that.” _

Peter eagerly grabbed a burger, muttering a thank-you before digging in whole-heartedly. After all, lollipops can only suppress your appetite for so long.

“Did you call yourself the father just now?” Quentin asked, reaching for a burger as well. As a bachelor, he was intimately familiar with fast-food, so he had to admit, Tony had a good taste in horrible food.

“Of course. I’m the father, you’re the doting mother, and Peter’s the little tyke.” Peter looked embarrassed but pleased to be included in the odd narrative.

Quentin huffed. “You’re the mother.”

Peter snorted into his burger.

Tony pouted. “I am not. I brought home the bacon, I’m the all-American dad who goes to work, and you’re the darling wife.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “You remind me to eat, buy my clothes, and pinch my cheek, probably Peter’s as well. You are the mother in this situation.”

“But I provide for you, wifey,” Tony argued. Quentin huffed. “‘Wifey’ can provide for themself. It’s more efficient to have two working parents.”

Tony huffed. “You got me there.”

There was a minute of silence where they all munched on their burgers.

“But you’re still the mom-”

“-I am  _ no such thing,”  _ Quentin hissed.

“Peter, my darling son, who is your mother?”

Peter had a deer-in-headlights look. “Uh…”

Quentin stood, pulling Tony to his feet. “I am taller, therefore, I am the father.”

Peter laughed. “You two are getting heated over this, that’s kinda wack. What’s Miss Potts, then?”

Tony relented, trying to decipher Peter’s youth-speak. “If I  _ am  _ the wife, which I am not, then Pep’s the milkman who I’ve been cheating on my husband with for years,” Tony leaned closer to whisper to Peter, “I don’t think Q’s your real father.”

Quentin threw his hands up in incredulity. “Where is this going?”

Tony grinned, confiding in Peter, “This is what happens when he actually goes along with my jokes. He gets…  _ heated.” _

Quentin shook his head. “I get confused.”

Tony shrugged. “True,”

Peter finished his burger, opening the second bag to find fries. “Sick!” He exclaimed under his breath.

“He keeps me young.” Tony declared to Quentin, who snorted.

The movie had been playing in the background, and Tony decided to pause it, which was a horrible mistake when a pop-up ad appeared.

“This game will make me WHAT?” Tony screeched, closing the tab immediately.

Finally, he looked closer to the website link. “123… Pete, Q, are you two just breaking the law at work?”

“Yes,” “Of course not!”

Tony wiped a tear from his eye. “They grow up so fast, don’t they, Q?”

Quentin felt a wry grin creep up his face, not answering. He leaned back in his chair, thinking to himself how nice it was to have company often, even if who the company happened to be were two superheroes, a child and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda wanna make a halloween chapter, even if I never celebrated it much as a kid. Anyway, Quentin's finally opening up to banter and jokes, I'm so proud! I'm trying not to make Peter painfully Gen Z, since as a Gen Z kid, I don't want to unleash it on anyone.
> 
> So... y'all think Q's gonna grow that stubble and start resembling FFH Quentin or what? Tony'd love it, either way.


	6. Beck’s Green Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony introduces Quentin to a lot of drinks.

Quentin frowned at himself in the mirror, thinking to both Tony and Peter’s advice.

_ Grow stubble. _

Quentin had started shaving at a young age, and had never allowed himself to have more than a five o’clock shadow on his face, more of his father’s influence.

His hand twitched towards his razor before he stopped.

He had already changed his hair, his wardrobe…

It wouldn’t hurt, right?

  
  


“Tony, what- why is there- get that off my desk.” Quentin groused out, scratching at his chin distractedly. It was itchy and uncomfortable. How did Tony keep up such elaborate facial hair without scratching at his face all the time?

“Come on, Q, it’s not like you to refuse one of my presents. I got it for you!”

Quentin narrowed his eyes before reciting the lab rules he had memorized when he had become an intern.

“‘No uncontained liquids near machinery,’ remember that rule? Get that off my desk.”

“At least take a sip.”

Quentin heaved a sigh, nonetheless moving towards the suspicious beverage.

It tasted like juice.

“How is it?” Tony asked excitedly.

“It’s juice.” Quentin replied, unconsciously going for another sip. It made a quiet slurping sound, and Quentin cleared his throat before placing the green juice on the adjacent desk.

“This is why we can’t have nice things- you never say thanks.” Tony sighed, taking the juice and drinking (out of the same straw, because Iron Man doesn’t care about germs) it loudly.

“Do you know what that tastes like?” Tony asked.

Quentin squinted. “Greens?”

“Sunlight. Freedom. The Big D-” Tony steamrolled on, ignoring the sarcastic tone in Quentin’s voice.

“The _ what-” _

“Vitamins that _ you, _Q, never get. JARVIS tells me you literally stay in here all day, and there’s one, only one, window in here that you never open. You know what that means?”

“I’m a hard worker.”

“You don’t get sunlight, Q. Your alabaster skin, my dear, deprived of the sun like some sort of cave monster. Thus, the green juice. It has lots of Vitamin D, just for you.”

Quentin eyed the juice. “I believe I’m fine. Sunlight can be damaging as well.”

“Then at least drink the juice.”

“The juice you’ve drunk to the halfway point?”

Tony looked at the cup. “Huh. Look at that.”

Quentin rolled his eyes, taking the cup and approaching the trash can.

“Q! Don’t you dare!”

Quentin very crossly glared at Tony, holding the cup over the trash.

“I don’t need it.” He said firmly.

Tony looked close to hysterics, rushing over and snatching it back.

“Don’t you want to taste the _ sun?” _ Tony whined.

“Not if you phrase it like that.”

Tony huffed, holding the juice out. “Just finish it, Q. Come on, it’s for you! My dear Q, Q-t, Quenty, Quenty, Quenty-”

Quentin grabbed the juice and popped off the cover, chugging the rest of its contents in a way that brought him back to his college days.

“Tastes like the sun,” Quentin said sarcastically, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, resolutely ignoring the gobsmacked expression on Tony’s face.

“Q, what the hell was- you’re like a- _ well _-”

Tony suddenly looked thoughtful. “Have we ever gone drinking together?”

Quentin shook his head, tossing the empty cup in the trash and walking back to his desk. “I don’t drink.”

Tony sputtered. “What you just did begs to differ, Quenty.”

“Don’t call me that,” Quentin muttered absently, looking over some designs for something Peter had mentioned.

“We should go out for drinks.”

Quentin turned his head to look at the clock. “It’s 8 in the morning.”

Tony waved his hand. “Time is a construct.”

Quentin sighed. “Can I get my work done first?”

Tony paused, looking at Q with something akin to horror.

“Wait, are you agreeing? Like- for real, you’re not-“

“I can and will change my mind, I’m only giving in because I know you’ll pester me about it.”

Tony positively _ buzzed _at that, jumping to his feet and looking over the blueprints on Quentin’s desk.

“Let me help.”

Quentin huffed. “You have things to do, too. Go away.”

Tony checked his watch. “Nope, I’m free as the country we stand upon. Just tell me what to do.”

“Leave.”

Tony made a harsh noise, crossing his arms in an ‘x.’ “Incorrect. Tell me what to do.”

Quentin heaved out a heavy sigh as Tony began rifling through the blueprints.

“Oooh, hologram-style webcams?”

“No!” Quentin snatched the paper away, cleaning his throat in embarrassment from the baffled look on Tony’s face.

“It’s Peter’s idea. He- It would be better if he were here to work on it himself.”

Tony’s mouth formed an ‘o.’ “No way. You- you two- you’re _ voluntarily working with someone?” _

“And what of it?” Quentin felt his ears turn red. Tony beamed, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes.

“How you’ve _ grown.” _

Quentin didn’t have a snippy remark to that, knowing the truth. It was true, and loath as he was to admit, Tony was the sole reason.

Tony saw it, beaming harder at him. “I know this cute little place a few blocks over. You better be done by-” He checked his watch, “5:00.”

Quentin offered Tony a roll of his eyes. “Fine. 5:00.”

Tony blew him a kiss before flouncing off.

  
  
  


Quentin anxiously adjusted the collar of his sweater, making sure for the fifth time that everything was packed away neatly.

4:58.

4:59.

“Let’s get _ TRASHED!” _

Quentin startled badly, dropping his phone. “You’re on _ time?” _

“Are you ready to riot?” Tony said, nothing but excitement in his movements.

Quentin could only stare dumbly as Tony herded him out of the lab all the way to the entrance.

“Does Miss Potts know about this?” He asked once they were outside.

Tony shrugged. “What she won’t know won’t hurt her. She’s not my babysitter.”

Quentin raised a brow. “Yes, she is.”

Tony sighed. “Yes, she is, but that’s besides the point. It’s actually in walking distance, so let’s get moving.”

“I’m surprised your chauffeur isn’t here.” Quentin quipped, slowing his pace to keep in stride with Tony. He had no clue where he was going. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since his college days, when he realized how his father was crumbling from the beer.

How his _ family _was crumbling from a beer.

Quentin had never had drinks with a friend. He wondered idly what kind of drunkard Tony was. From what he could recall from their first meeting, the shorter man was chatty, earnest, and nearly narcoleptic.

He didn’t know what kind he was, since he had always drunk alone in his dorm. With Tony, he was guaranteed to get drunk enough to find out.

“We’re here!” Quentin glanced up, sagging in relief at the casual-looking bar. It wasn’t as high-class as he had worried it might be.

Quentin didn’t have time to observe the exterior before Tony tugged him inside, enthusiastically sitting down in a booth with Quentin across from him.

“This place promises discretion. It’s where I go when I need some Tony Time.”

Quentin’s lips twitched. “You could’ve said ‘me time’ like everyone else.”

Tony grinned smugly as a server approached. “I’m not everyone else.” Quentin rolled his eyes and let Tony order for them.

“Oooh, can we get some nachos? Those are great with some-” Tony glanced at his watch, thrilled to see that it was only 5:12, “Oho! Margarita time! Could I get a classic? Q, what do you want?”

Quentin shrugged, still taking in the interior. “Surprise me.”

Tony grinned and ordered an unfamiliar drink, excitedly regaling Quentin with tales of his past visits before the drinks were set down, along with a plate of nachos.

Tony delighted in the swirly straw of his drink, swishing it in his margarita while Quentin tried to make sense of the drink before him.

“So then, Pepper storms in and tries to pull me out-”

“Tony, we can’t go any further without addressing this.”

Tony blinked at him innocently.

“What is this that you’ve ordered me?”

The mystery drink was bright blue, complete with a few fruit cubes and a tiny umbrella, along with a (to Quentin’s chagrin) swirly straw.

Tony grinned. “It’s an Aqua Velva. You wouldn’t judge it so hard if you tried it.”

Quentin hesitantly reached for it, awkwardly taking the straw and sipping it.

“Oh.” Was his reaction, to Tony’s disappointment. He was unsurprised at Quentin’s lacklustre reaction, but it was still a buzzkill.

Quentin took a bigger gulp, trying to ignore the amusement on Tony’s face.

“It’s so unlike you to drink something like _ that.” _He waved a loaded nacho at Quentin’s face to his drink.

Quentin looked at the margarita that was already halfway finished. “I can’t say the same for you,” he murmured before pulling his straw out, handing it to Tony. Tony grinned at the new decoration, almost missing it when Quentin took a few more gulps without so much as a wince, finishing off three fourths of the glass.

He stared in awe at the proficient drinker. “How did you do that?”

Quentin didn’t answer, only licking his lips clean of the sugar that caught on his lips from the rim of the glass, giving a glance to Tony’s half-full drink.

Tony recognized the silent challenge in Quentin’s eyes, grinning in an almost feral way before taking both straws out of his drink and downing as much as he could.

  
  


Two margaritas and at least five Aqua Velvas later found Tony amassing an impressive hoard of tiny umbrellas.

Quentin was buzzed, maybe a bit more than buzzed, but not as much as Tony, who looked close to tears when his tiny tower of tiny umbrellas trembled and fell.

“You totally blew on it!” The man accused.

Quentin tiredly grinned, feeling more relaxed than he had in a very long time.

“I did not,” He responded, voice coming out rougher with a hint of his accent peeking through.

“You are simply horrible, hah, at structuring things.” He managed to say before taking Tony’s margarita and finishing it, not caring about the germs.

At some point, the staff had stopped giving them straws, seeing Quentin viciously remove them every time and toss it at his boss.

“Says the guy who- heh- the guy who- the guy-” Tony struggled. Quentin snorted, gesturing with a hand sticky with sugar for Tony to continue.

“-I.. I am Iron Man.” Tony finished, and Quentin let out an honest-to-God cackle.

“Yes.” He agreed. Silence followed.

“I love my mother,” He blurted out, smiling dopily at the ceiling.

Tony lifted his glass in agreement. “I love your mother too-”

“I really love my mother,” Quentin repeated, heart heavy with bitter-sweetness, eyes filling with tears.

“Wah, Q, are you crying?” Tony looked like he was tearing up at the sight, frowning at the emotional drunk across from him.

“I am doing no such thing,” Quentin sniffled, taking a napkin to messily wipe at his eyes.

“My father is a bastard,” Quentin wailed, hand curling into a fist. He let out a hiccup.

Tony raised his glass again. “Mine, too.”

The two were silent before a server approached to collect the glasses.

Her hand strayed, brushing against the pile of umbrellas. Tony stiffened, hissing through his teeth like a cat at the poor girl. “No! Those are mine! Don’t take it!”

Quentin dazedly squinted at the server, rising to Tony’s defense. “He- he worked _ so hard _on collecting those!” He added, trying not to slur too much.

The server bit her lip, glancing at the bartender who had been watching the two with fascination.

“Um, Mr. Stark? My boss said you’ve had too many. It’s, uh, it’s already 8:45.”

Tony let out a wail, gathering his umbrellas in his arms for a moment before reaching into his suit jacket and handing the woman a card and a 50 dollar bill. “I can see when we’re not wan’d. Q, help me!”

Quentin diligently picked up the rest of the umbrellas, closing them so he could shove them in his pockets easier.

The server came back not a minute later, flushing red with embarrassment. “Um, Mr. Stark, this is a Baskin Robbins gift card.”

Tony rifled through his wallet and handed her his real card.

“You eat at Baskin Robbins?” Quentin asked curiously, taking the gift card in hand.

Tony looked affronted. “Ever’one eats at Baskin Robbins. I wen’ there last week, had a talk about microtechnology with the guy there. What wuzzis name? Scott? Scott Long? Hmph,” The server came back with the card, wishing them a good night.

Quentin obligingly helped Tony, hooking an arm under his shoulder to support his weight. The position was a familiar one.

The two stumbled back to SI, a horrible idea considering Quentin was with a very inebriated, very famous, very rich, very _ vulnerable _man with no real defenses.

“Hey, Quennn,” Tony slurred out. Quentin grunted in response.

“When y’said your dad wuzzah bas’ard, whaddya mean by that?” Quentin paused before walking again, catching Tony when he fell.

“He is not a good man,” Quentin admitted, feeling a hook in his stomach twist at his words and the honesty that dripped from them.

“Yeah, mine sucked.” Tony murmured before falling a second time.

Quentin huffed. “If you puke on me, I’m quitting my job,” He threatened before dipping to sweep Tony off of his feet.

“I won’ puke if you don’ move too fast.” Tony grumbled into Quentin’s neck. His breath smelled of nachos and alcohol, and Quentin wrinkled his nose.

“Your breath stinks.”

“Iron Man’s breath don’ stink,” Tony argued.

“Tony’s does.” Quentin shot back, trying to ignore the eyes on them.

Tony cackled into Quentin’s neck, before dissolving into hiccups and sniffles.

“We’re friends, right, Quen?”

Quentin snorted, feeling the sharp ends of tiny paper umbrellas dig into his skin. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

Tony gave a choked-up laugh before promptly passing out in Quentin’s arms.

Quentin gave a half-hearted roll of his eyes before trudging into to the building, forgetting that it was the last Wednesday of the month and that his parents were waiting on him to give his monthly check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I watched Zodiac and loved it. If you haven’t, you should! It has Jake Gyllenhaal, Robert Downey Jr., and Mark Ruffalo!
> 
> The green juice is from a deleted scene that’s like 2 seconds from FFH.
> 
> Again, thanks for reading, and review if you’d feel inclined to! (I really like them lmao)


	7. Bruised Up Beck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So maybe Quentin’s been a little more impulsive lately.

When Quentin woke, the first thing he noticed was that his house smelled like coffee.

He hadn’t made coffee the night before, had he? 

Quentin let out a groan, feeling his temples pulse with a headache. How many had he had last night? 

Sitting up was a mistake. Sharp pains erupted in his legs, and Quentin let out a yelp, reaching down to pull out a tiny umbrella, followed by another, then another.

“Morning, sunshine!” Tony flounced into the room, and Quentin’s mouth opened, ready to ask if he had forgotten lab rules of announcing your presence the moment you were inside.

But this wasn’t his lab.

“How did you get in my house?” Quentin demanded, feeling his headache increase at the totally unaffected superhero.

“‘How did you get in my house,’ he says. It’s not like you have the best security. My handy dandy Baskin Robbins gift card helped me out.” Tony waved a card in the air, and Quentin’s head pounded at the fast motion.

Quentin groaned and placed his hand over his eyes.

“Stop being so loud, it’s too early.”

Tony laughed uproariously, stepping further into the room and snooping around. “You've got the blandest room I’ve ever seen. Oh!”

Quentin hissed at the exclamation, not bothering to hit Tony with a comeback.

“I made you coffee. Your options could use some work, not to mention you have, like, _ no _fun mugs, seriously, are you living in prison? Also, you could stand to clean up some, almost spilled some on your cute little check-“

“Shit!” Quentin cursed, suddenly remembering that he had forgotten to give his parents their monthly check.

Tony’s jaw dropped. “Did you just cuss?” 

Quentin groaned, hand scrambling for something on his nightstand. He was still in bed, and Tony was just standing there like a nurse waiting for their patient.

“What the hell are you looking... for…” Tony trailed off, caught at a loss for words at the sight before him.

Quentin found what he was looking for. His hand came up to place the pair of glasses atop his nose, and suddenly, everything was clear again. Where had he put his contacts?

“You wear glasses.” Tony said, absolutely dumbstruck.

“When I need to,” Quentin snipped back, pulling back the blanket to swing his legs out of bed.

“You wear glasses.” Tony repeated, still just as disbelieving as the first time.

“I wear glasses,” Quentin confirmed, grabbing the mug full of coffee and drinking it steadily.

“Q, you’re so adorable!” Tony suddenly burst out, excitedly snatching the glasses from his face and shoving them on his own. Quentin spied Tony’s fingers smudging the lenses, and he let out a groan, knowing exactly what Tony was going to say.

“How do you _ see _in these- hey, hey, Q, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“You’ll be holding up _ none _if you don’t give me back my glasses right now,” Quentin seethed, reaching for them, growling when Tony ducked out of his way.

Tony cooed at him, slowly taking the glasses and placing them on Quentin’s face.

“Wear these around work more often, will you? You’re adorable.”

“I am _ not,” _Quentin denied.

“Oh, but you _ are,” _Tony insisted, walking to Quentin’s closet and opening it, clicking his tongue.

“Quenty, you own _ one _ pair of jeans. And you _ never _wear them. Why’d you even buy them?”

“Don’t call me that,” Quentin grumbled, picking out stray umbrellas from his pockets, “and I didn’t buy them. My mother did.”

Tony cooed again, turning to grin at Quentin.

“You are cute as a button, Q. Speaking of the lovely lady, how is she?”

Quentin shrugged. “I assume she’s well.” 

Quentin coughed into his hand in embarrassment. “I was supposed to see her yesterday, but- ah,” He flicked another umbrella in Tony’s direction.

Tony caught it with a grin. “Go see her today, then.”

Quentin huffed. “I will, but-” He blinked, realizing that Tony was still in his room, in his apartment, which he had not once given the man the address to. The worst part about the realization was the disturbing lack of offense. Quentin found that he was only annoyed and inconvenienced at Tony, rather than the anger that he should have felt.

“How’d you even get here?”

Tony shrugged. “JARVIS found your address real easy. He’s pretty smart like that.”

Quentin sighed. “Of course.”

Tony looked around some more, pointing at his dresser. “Why do you have _ no _personal items- in fact-” Tony bent to snatch two umbrellas from the floor. 

“Here. Personal decorations from your best friend. The green one’s you, the red one’s me.”

The two umbrellas sat innocently on the dresser, and Quentin couldn’t find it in himself to swipe them off. He made a mental note to get rid of them later, huffing at the lack of conviction in his head.

“I was gonna cook you breakfast, but I’m tired.” Tony admitted. “I’m not the best husband, I’m sorry.”

Quentin sighed. “I guess you’ll want breakfast, then?”

Tony beamed. “You can cook? You don’t seem the type.”

Quentin bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking. “Right.”

Quentin couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed of his near empty fridge, grabbing the last of his eggs.

“I’m not picky, make whatever you want, honey,” Tony crooned, having taken a seat on a barstool near the counter.

“Honey?” Quentin repeated under his breath, fishing around for a whisk.

“You know, like in movies, the hubby comes around and is always saying ‘honey, I’m home?’” Tony said matter-of-factly.

“Mhm.” Quentin tuned the rest of Tony’s rambles out, focusing on cracking eggs. 

“Can I help?” Tony asked at some point, bouncing in his chair, nearly overcome with the urge for something to occupy his hands with.

Quentin paused, wondering if he trusted Tony in his kitchen. Well, the man could pay for the expenses if he burned Quentin’s house down, so was there any harm?

“Dice this.” Quentin pushed a bell pepper towards Tony, along with a knife.

Tony made a face. “Uh, okay.” He very slowly cut the pepper in half, looking to Quentin for guidance.

Quentin snorted and pushed his bowl of half beaten eggs to Tony. “Just whisk these, then.”

Tony grinned and took the bowl.

The two made quick work of the eggs and vegetables, ending up with two omelettes that, if Quentin said so himself, were pretty good.

“I like your apartment.” Tony announced, swinging his legs from the spot on the table. Quentin had noticed that little habit of his, to sit on tables when there were perfectly serviceable chairs nearby.

Quentin grunted through a mouthful of eggs in response, spotting the envelope that Tony had almost spilled coffee on. He reached for it and frowned, hoping that his parents weren’t too unsettled by his lack of punctuality.

“So, you’ll probably have to leave for work or go to your parents’ house to drop that off, huh?” Tony looked dejected, and huffed when Quentin nodded.

“Curse you for being such a good child.” Tony finished the rest of his omelette, placing his plate in the sink and dancing over to Quentin.

“I’ll see you later, honey,” He crooned, attempting to kiss Quentin on the head, laughing when he was pushed away.

“I’ll see myself out, then.” Tony laughed, leaving the apartment after very pointedly straightening a crooked couch.

Quentin lifted a hand in farewell, rolling his eyes at the happy whistling he heard behind the closed door.

The envelope lay in his hand, reminding Quentin of his task.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Quentin set off to his parents’ house, trying to come up with an excuse on the way.

  
  


His mother was pruning the flowers in the front yard when he arrived, and she greeted him with a big smile and a stream of steady German.

“Hello, Mutter,” He greeted, leaning down when she plucked a flower and tucked it over his ear, sending him inside with a kiss on the knuckles.

“I’ll talk with you later,” he called before walking inside.

  
  


Once the door closed, Quentin could almost feel the atmosphere chill.

His father didn’t seem as happy to see him.

“Why are you late?” The man thundered, and Quentin felt every bone in his body turn to lead.

He fumbled around the excuse in his head, tongue twisting into words that weren’t nearly as eloquent he was hoping they would be.

“What have I said about Becks, Quentin?” Quentin flinched back, reciting the phrase quietly as his father glared up at him.

“A Beck is never late.”

His father huffed angrily. “And yet, a Beck is late today. Not by a few minutes, not by a few hours, but by a full day. What is wrong with you?” He demanded.

Quentin wilted, knees and arms locking up as he searched for an answer.

“I was out last night.” He finally forced out.

His father lightened up a small amount. “With who?”

Quentin cleared his throat. “Tony.”

Just like that, the man’s expression closed off before flickering into rage, the effect of beer taking hold.

“Tony. You were out with Tony Stark, hm?” Quentin clenched his jaw, stomach sinking. He hadn’t been yelled at by his father in _ years. _

“Tony Stark, making _ my _ son think that a night with friends is more important than _ supporting his parents!” _ Quentin’s fingers started to tremble, the envelope sticking to his clammy palms.

The man stepped forward, narrowing his eyes at Quentin, movements unmeasured and volatile.

Quentin opened his mouth to deny it, but his father’s hand shot out, faster than Quentin was ready for, and clamped hard around his jaw. He was pulled down so his father could glare directly into his eyes.

“Tony Stark. I have heard _ enough _about Tony Stark. He drinks, he parties, he is rich and is flashy and is not a man I will respect.” Quentin felt his breaths become ragged, and a bit of heat crept into his heart, the envelope slipping from his fingers.

“An alcoholic, wealthy, opulent man, influencing a good man like you… What the hell is this, Quentin? Your face is _ messy.” _ His father spat, taking in the light dusting of stubble on his face to the flower on his ear, “You spend too much on appearance now, and I know why! Tony _ fucking _Stark!”

The fingers gripping Quentin’s jaw were tight. Quentin felt heat rise in his cheeks and ears and sparks flew in his blood.

“Tony Stark is not a good man, Quentin, do not-”

Before Quentin knew it, he had ripped the hand from his face, lips curling in a sneer, catching the surprise in his fathers eyes and-

“Tony Stark is _ seven times the man you’ll ever be!” _He spat venomously, throwing the man’s hand back with strength reserved for forcing metal into shape.

His father reared back, stunned. Then, his face screwed up in rage and his hand curled into a fist. 

Quentin heard it before he felt it, the impact of a punch to his jaw. Pain bloomed in his face, but he bore it with gritted teeth.

The flower fluttered to the ground.

“I have raised you, helped you grow under _ my _ roof for years. You would be _ nothing _without me, but Tony Stark is more important, hmm!?”

Quentin rubbed his chin, taking a moment to breathe. Then, he rose to his full height, staring down at the man he called his father.

“You are pathetic.” He said quietly, not an ounce of deceit in his tone. 

His father threw another punch, but Quentin was faster, catching it in his hand. He slowly bent down to look the man in the eyes, red-rimmed from smoke and anger. His fingers were a vice around the fist in his hands, sure to leave marks of their own.

It was pitiful.

“I’m nothing without you, am I?” He spat blood onto his father’s shirt. Quentin released the fist, stepping away from the panting man, catching the red marks he left.

“If I am nothing without you, then _ you _ are nothing at all.” Quentin murmured before turning his back and leaving.

He shut the door, muffling the enraged growl from his father.

  
  


His mother was there in an instant, having been anxiously listening to the two argue from outside.

She gasped, tracing the bruise on his face. He caught her wrist, gently holding it. “Are you alright?” She asked, eyes darting all over his jaw

Quentin felt a grin grow on his face, lips parting to reveal slightly bloody teeth, laughing quietly with a hint of hysteria. “I’m well, Mutter. How are you?”

Quentin turned his head, hearing stomping sounds and the distinct click of a lighter.

“Mutter,” He said suddenly, turning to the tiny woman with gardening shears in her hand.

“You shouldn’t stay here, Mutter. Will you come stay with me?” It was impulsive and fueled mostly by adrenaline, Quentin was aware, but then again, his actions prior held impulsiveness beyond anything he had done in his _ life. _

His mother blinked. “Now?”

The clinking of beer bottles sounded out from behind the door.

“Now,” He whispered back, urgency leaking in. Quentin was a grown man, he could handle a punch, but his mother was tiny and birdlike, and so very fragile from overworking herself. The thought of his father even raising his voice at her brought a cold fear to his heart.

She was hesitant, and Quentin was struck with deja vu from when he had eaten dinner with her. 

But this wasn’t dinner, this was an escape.

“Please,” He pleaded softly, exhaling in relief when she nodded quietly and placed the shears down on the welcome mat.

He led her to his car, helping her in and following soon after.

He caught his father’s eye through the window as he put on his seatbelt, offering him a shake of the head before he drove off.

  
  
  


“Where have you been- holy _ shit!” _Quentin couldn’t help the hysterical laugh that bubbled from his lips at the sight of Tony springing up from his couch and speeding over to him.

“What happened to your face? Are you okay? We should call a doctor, here, I know like _ sixteen-” _

“Tony!” Quentin snatched the phone from Tony’s hands, shaking his head. “I’m fine. How- why are you here?”

Tony shrugged, not looking away from the bruise blooming along Quentin’s jaw. “Unimportant. What happened to you?”

“I would like to know, too.” Quentin’s mother stepped out from behind him, curiously looking around the apartment. Quentin realized she hadn’t seen it since he had first moved in, when it was filled with boxes and books and the bachelor’s decor.

“Oh, hi! Emily, right? It’s good to meet you,” Tony greeted. She smiled back, repeating the greeting.

Quentin sighed when they both turned to him expectantly.

“He- I was slow, and he punched me.” 

Emily gave a shuddering breath, wrapping her arms around him tight.

Quentin met Tony’s eyes, freezing at what he saw.

Eyes that were always laughing and warm were filled with cold fury, the cool and calculated sort of rage that promised vengeance.

“Tony,” he said cautiously, arms still around his mother.

“What’s his name?” Tony said quietly, hands twitching.

“Tony, no,” Quentin’s voice took a warning tone, knowing exactly what the shorter man was thinking.

“Quentin, he hurt you. I can’t- you can’t expect me to be fine with this.”

Quentin’s mother pulled away, looking at Tony curiously.

“I’m not expecting you to be fine with it, I’m expecting you to be reasonable.” Quentin said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Something in his voice must have brought down Tony’s anger, and the man huffed, crossing his arms.

“Fine.” Tony groused out.

“What were you doing here anyway?” Quentin asked.

“I was snooping around your house, duh.” Tony said, not looking ashamed in the slightest.

Quentin sighed, not very surprised.

“Well, my mother’s going to be staying with me for a while. Once I get her things together, you can’t snoop through those.”

Emily laughed quietly. Quentin felt his heart lighten at the sound, easing the stress of the events prior.

Tony smiled at the two of them. “Fine. She’ll be staying in your spare bedroom, then? You just have boxes in there.”

Quentin tilted his head back, rubbing his jaw. Exhaustion crept at the corners of his vision, making his eyelids heavy.

“I’ll take care of it.” He said, tired but convicted.

_ I’ll take care of her. _His mind whispered.

_ I’ll try to take care of you. _Tony’s mind whispered back.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it’s only occurred to me recently that people really read this? Like I see I’ve gotten hits and such but I only just had that realization bc of a Twitter interaction lmao
> 
> But that’s so awesome that people read it, and not only read it, but they enjoy it like that’s so wild to my tiny pigeon brain
> 
> Anyway, this chapter has a lot of BAMF quentin which I had a lot of fun writing. Also GLASSES QUENTIN! 
> 
> Me: I love Quentin Beck, he’s baby and deserves to be protected  
Me: has Quentin get clowned on by Tony n beat up by his dad
> 
> Ok if you enjoyed, please leave a comment! They’re a big inspiration for my writing, so if you have any ideas or just wanted to make my day, don’t be shy!


	8. A Day of Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin and Tony go shopping. That's it.

Quentin woke to the smell of pancakes and coffee. For a second, he thought that Tony must’ve snuck inside and made him breakfast, but light humming reminded him of the impulsive decision the night before.

He had kidnapped his mother.

His sleep-addled mind started whirring with things that he needed to do, and his hand scrambled blindly for his phone, intent on calling in sick so he could have a day to figure out what he was going to do.

The email had been sent for two minutes before his phone buzzed with a call. Quentin sighed and held it to his ear.

“Hello?”

_ “You’re sick? Why are you sick? I thought you had a strong system. Do you want me to call a doctor? I know this guy named Bru- ow, Dummy, calm down- What kind of sick are you-” _

“I’m not sick. I’m just using one of my sick days to have the day off.” Quentin interrupted, rolling his eyes as if Tony could see.

_ “...” _Tony went quiet for a moment.

Quentin squinted, looking around for his glasses. “Besides, how did you know I- nevermind. Don’t call the doctors.”

_ “Is it because of your mother? How is she?” _Quentin shrugged off his blanket and got out of bed, holding the phone to his ear with one hand while the other hand ran along the top of the dresser, searching by feel for his glasses.

“She’s okay, I think. I still need to pick her things up from the other house… Now that I’m not living alone, I suppose I should go grocery shopping…” Quentin mused, wincing at the clang that sounded through the speaker.

“Tony, what was that?”

A muffled grunt and a yell, _ “Don’t worry, Dummy’s just trying to make me a smoothie- OW!” _

Quentin’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Dummy? You’ve mentioned a Dummy.”

He could practically hear Tony beam through the phone. _ “One of my bots, not my brightest. It’s actually DUM-E, but we all call him Dummy. We meaning me, and if you play your cards right, you too.” _

There was a sound similar to shattering glass, and Quentin huffed. “You seem a bit busy. I need to eat breakfast, please don’t die.”

_ “No promises, honey-” _

Quentin hung up on Tony and walked to the kitchen, fighting the smirk of amusement as hard as he could.

“Good morning, Mutter.” He greeted. She turned around and smiled nervously at him, smoothing out her sweater.

“I made you breakfast,” She said by way of greeting. Quentin’s brows furrowed. 

“You don’t need to do that,” He replied, before smiling softly. “I will make breakfast tomorrow, then.”

She didn’t protest, and her smile looked a bit brighter when Quentin sat down and invited her to eat with him.

There was pleasant silence for a few minutes before she looked at him with a sad smile.

“Do you remember when you were young, and you wished to be a movie-maker?”

Quentin’s fork stilled, and the tips of his ears warmed in a blush. “Yes,” He answered curtly.

Emily beamed at the embarrassed look on his face, clasping her hands together and looking wistfully out the window.

“You watched Godzilla quite a lot. You told me all about what they used, do you remember?”

Quentin flushed harder and poked at his pancakes, taking a long sip of coffee so he wouldn’t have to answer.

“It was very cute,” She reassured him, “you would say ‘Mutter, it is stop-motion,’ ‘Mutter, they use miniatures,’ you loved Godzilla very much.”

Quentin finally cracked a smile. “And you bought me a tiny toy and let me attack you with it. You pretended to be the woman in danger.”

Emily smiled at her son, fidgeting with the fancy necklace he had given her weeks ago. “I still have it, you know,” She fought laughter when his head snapped up in surprise, pretending not to notice the flicker of excitement in his eyes.

“In a box in your old room. He’s there,” she teased. “Beckzilla.”

Quentin coughed into his coffee, flushing from his ears to his neck. “Let’s stop talking about this. I need to go grocery shopping today. Will you join me?”

Emily took a moment, allowing the abrupt change in subject. “I am in the same clothes as last night. I don’t think I can, sorry,”

Quentin hummed. “You needn’t be sorry, Mutter. Is there anything you want?”

Emily hesitated before laying out one tiny request. “The hazelnut creamer, if you could.”

Quentin smiled, nodding. “I can do that. I won’t take more than a few hours.”

Emily smiled back, pleased that she hadn’t been rejected. Quentin spotted the smile, returning it with a matching dimple on the left cheek.

  
  
  
  
  


Tony huffed, waving off Dummy for the fifth time. “What brought all this smoothie stuff on, huh?” He groused out with no real annoyance.

Dummy whirred and beeped, wheeling to a trashcan and knocking it over. “Hey-” Tony complained, cut off when Dummy picked through the trash and poked at a specific cup. Tony walked over, bending to read the label.

It was the green juice he had bought for Quentin a while ago. Well, not the same one, but the type was the same. Tony had bought another one to find out if he could chug it half as fast as his friend.

(He couldn’t.)

“That’s not even mine. Those are _ Q’s,” _Tony stressed, gathering the trash of 90% coffee cups and shoving it back in.

Dummy beeped curiously. “Q’s my friend,” Tony told him proudly, pulling out his phone and finding Quentin’s contact.

It was right after his haircut, when his hair was still wet and his pout was on full display.

Dummy gave an inquisitive beep. Tony shrugged. “Maybe you’ll meet him, Dummy. I’m sure he’d like you more than me,” he confided.

Dummy wheeled in a circle excitedly before whizzing off to Butterfingers and U to gossip about Tony’s angry juice friend.

Tony watched them communicate fondly, mind back on Q’s plans for the day. 

“J, Q said he was gonna grocery shopping today, right?” He asked. JARVIS replied with a yes and a hint of suspicion.

“Maybe I should go with him. I’ve never been grocery shopping before,” He plotted, shooting off a text (_ I’m shopping w you thank me later) _and packing away his tools, lest Dummy set the lab on fire again.

_ “Sir, if I may,” _JARVIS interrupted. Tony hummed. “You may,”

_ “Sir, if you are seen in a grocery store, it may be… unflattering.” _

Tony paused, mulling over it, brightening with a plan. “I see what you’re trying to say, J. You’re so clever,” he praised, grabbing a cap and a pair of sunglasses to hide his identity.

_ “Sir, no.” _

“‘Sir, no,’” Tony mimicked, making sure the cap was secure. “Don’t be such a downer, J, it’ll be fun.”

JARVIS stubbornly remained quiet, a virtual pout on his nonexistent features.

Tony blew a kiss in the direction of a camera. “Bye, darlings,” He called to his bots, receiving a chorus of beeps in response.

  
  
  
  
  


“I never said yes,” Quentin said dryly when Tony appeared at his door. Tony grinned and shouldered his way in.

“I never gave you a chance to,” He cooed back, looking around for Quentin’s mother.

“She’s resting right now, don’t bother her,” Quentin sighed from the doorway. Tony hummed and circled back to Quentin, pausing for a moment before rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Quentin jolted back. “Stop touching my face,” He hissed in alarm.

Tony stopped. “But your beard’s coming in, and you look oh-so handsome, I couldn’t resist.”

Quentin grumbled and picked up his keys, resigned to the fact that Tony would join him. “This is why Mutter thought you were my boyfriend.”

“Husband,” Tony corrected absentmindedly, trailing after Quentin out of the apartment.

Quentin rolled his eyes and unlocked his car.

“You know, I should get you some sort of air freshener,” Tony chattered, fastening his seat-belt as Quentin rested his head against the steering wheel to resist starting up the car and immediately driving into a wall.

“If we take longer than an hour and a half, it’s your fault.” Tony shrugged, looking totally unrepentant, so Quentin tried a different approach.

“It’s on your head if my mother has to be home alone for a second longer than I promised.” Tony’s head snapped to stare at Quentin. “You didn’t tell me we had a time limit!”

Quentin let out a strangled huff, glaring at him. “I did,” he muttered under his breath, “well, we do, so if I don’t make it, you owe me. And my mother.”

Tony nodded determinedly. “Okay. Hour and a half.”

Quentin nodded. “Hour and a half. No playing around, okay?”

  
  


“Are those _ Iron Man _sweaters?” Tony enthused, bounding ahead of Quentin in the Walmart entrance.

“Tony,” Quentin tried, wincing when Tony immediately picked one up, whirling around to show it off to Quentin. The man attracted a few looks, but oddly enough, no one seemed to recognize him.

“I want one.” Tony said, daring Quentin to disagree. These days, Quentin was a gambling man, so he unrepentantly replied.

“Tony, you _ are _Iron Man, not to mention you own more than enough sweaters. What would you need the sweater for?”

“You’re one to talk about owning more than enough sweaters.” He snipped back, possessively holding the far too large sweater in his arms.

Quentin sighed. “You bought them.”

“And I’ll buy this, too.” Tony decided, balling it up and tossing it in the cart. After a moment of heavy consideration, Tony grabbed a smaller one and placed it next to the other one.

“Just in case it doesn’t fit,” Tony explained. Quentin rolled his eyes for the fifth time. “You could, I don’t know, try it on?”

Tony shook his head, already moving into the kids section and enthusing over marked-down Halloween costumes.

Quentin decided to let Tony wander around while he did his _ actual _shopping. The manchild looked like he was having a good enough time, anyway. Quentin veered the sweater-laden cart off to the produce aisles while Tony explored.

  
  


“Q, be honest, is this how you see the Iron Man suit?” Tony picked up a onesie, wincing at the lines and discolorations, turning to ask Quentin his opinion.

Quentin wasn’t there.

Tony looked around confusedly for the head of brown hair. 

(He could barely see over the shelves.)

“Q?” He tried, stepping out of the aisle to look for his wayward buddy.

Scanning the area and seeing no-one around, Tony hastily climbed on top of a display table to see over the high shelves, searching for Quentin.

There!

Tony saw a head of brown hair move into an aisle, and he hopped down from the table, ready to reunite with his favorite employee.

“Q!” He called, making more than just his employee’s head turn. He didn’t really care, excitedly making his way to the man.

“What are you holding?” Quentin asked once he reached him. Tony held up his find.

In his arms were two pairs of animal ears, leftovers from Halloween that were discounted.

“Neither of us have any need for those.” Quentin said slowly, as if he were talking to a small child. The comparison wasn’t very far off.

“If we only did things when we needed to, when would we have fun?” Tony asked with an air of philosophy. Quentin grumbled, turning back to look for eggs.

“Just let me help. What else do you need?” Tony subtly tossed the ears in the cart, peeking over Quentin’s shoulder.

“Could you even reach the shelves if I told you?” Quentin grumbled.

Tony frowned. “Hey, that was uncalled for. I’m a growing boy,”

Quentin’s lips twitched up and he shook his head. “Both sentences are untrue.” He murmured, turning and placing the eggs in the cart.

“What I don’t understand is how you haven’t been recognized yet,” Quentin mused, pointing at Tony’s cap and sunglasses.

“I’m just really inconspicuous.” Tony replied.

Quentin shook his head again with a huff. Tony snatched his phone from his hands, looking over the list.

<strike> _ Eggs _ </strike>

<strike> _ Hazelnut creamer _ </strike>

<strike> _ Bread _ </strike>

<strike> _ Butter _ </strike>

<strike> _ Oil _ </strike>

_ Bread _

_ Get Mutter’s things _

  * _Clothes_
  * Pictures
  * Beckzil-

Tony couldn’t read the rest before Quentin took his phone back. “What’s Beckzilla?” He asked, smirking slyly when Quentin’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Nothing,” Quentin deflected, turning to hide his blush. Tony filed that information away for later, following Quentin to a bread aisle.

“We should get croissants.” He said, picking up a pack. Quentin snatched it back, putting it on the shelf. 

“No,” he argued, looking annoyed. Tony decided that he looked the wrong sort of annoyed, and Tony’s special annoyance was the sort he ought to be.

Tony glanced around, looking for a way to spark exasperation. His gaze landed on the cart, and he grinned, fishing out the Halloween ears he had taken before.

He put one on his own head, sneaking up behind Quentin and jamming them on behind his ears.

Quentin hissed, true to the cat ears Tony had given him, whirling around to glare at Tony. He squinted at the dog ears on Tony’s head. “You just put ears on me, didn’t you?”

There it was! Tony beamed, picking up on the notes of exasperation in his voice. The annoyance and stress of newfound responsibility was lightened, and Tony felt a happy thrill at being the cause.

“They suit you,” He said by way of answering. Quentin rolled his eyes. “I look a fool,” he mused, looking down at Tony.

“We both do,” Tony reassured him.

Quentin sighed and turned around to continue his shopping, murmuring something about how Tony would just keep forcing the ears on him if he took them off. Tony agreed, subtly snapping a picture while the taller of the two wasn’t looking.

Quentin wore the ears all through the rest of shopping, all through checkout, and didn’t take them off until they were in the car and they brushed the roof of his Honda.

“Do you want me to drop you off at…” Quentin began, rolling his eyes when Tony made an affronted noise. “... I ask out of courtesy, not because I think you’d stop being clingy for one second.”

Tony crossed his arms, sinking into his seat and looking out the window, concealing the pleased smile that came with Quentin accepting his fate.

  
  


“Mudder, we’re home!” Tony sang as he burst through Quentin’s door. Quentin trailed behind him, holding the grocery bags because he “didn’t trust Tony.”

“It’s _ Mutter. _ Can you open the fridge?”

Tony opened the fridge and hopped up to sit on the counter, watching Quentin methodically pack away his items.

“Hello Quentin, hello Tony.” Tony turned to see Quentin’s mother. He waved hello and gave her smile before turning to watch Quentin put various items in cupboards.

“Get off my counter,” Quentin huffed, placing down fruit in a bowl on the counter he was sitting on.

Tony slid off and approached Quentin’s mother, the sounds of jars and cans being put away making the atmosphere almost domestic.

Tony scrambled for something to say. He _ wanted _Q’s mom to like him, he really did, but he wasn’t really a “bring home to your parents” kind of guy.

Before he could shove the thought back in, he blurted out a compliment to the woman, earning a startled grin.

“You did a great job on him,” Tony wanted to pretend there was an Iron Man level emergency so he could have an excuse to leap out the window.

Thankfully, she took it with grace. “Thank you,” She said with a nod, idly patting the sleeves of her sweater. Tony realized it was the one Q had bought her.

“He got you that sweater, didn’t he?”

She nodded, a pleased grin lightening her weary features. “It wasn’t even my birthday. He’s very thoughtful, my Quentin,”

Tony mirrored her grin, nodding in agreement. “You should visit his lab some time. He’s really good at what he does,”

Her grin looked a little sad, then, and Tony winced. Was that a bad touch? Should he have kept quiet?

“Yes, he works very hard.” Her eyes flickered up to him, consideration in their depths. “It used to be stifling for him, but I think… Someone has made it easier on him.”

Tony stilled, having a feeling that she was referring to him.

“Oh?” He asked, not realizing that Quentin was leaning against the doorway, watching the interaction with fascination. The two most important people in his life (the two _ only _important people in his life) were talking about him.

“Yes, and I would like to thank that someone for making him happy again,” Emily said, looking up at Tony with gratitude written on her features.

Tony scratched the back of his neck, rambling out a response. “Well, the someone, if I were that someone, would thank _ him _ too, because even if I, that someone, made him happy, he also helped me out in certain, uh, well, he made me happy- he _ makes _me happy- uh, I gotta go,” Tony whirled around and collided with Quentin’s chest on his way out.

Quentin had an unreadable look on his face, peering down at Tony with such intensity that Tony heard his own jaw click shut in nervousness.

Then, Quentin huffed and nudged Tony towards the door. “Get out of my house,” He said, exasperated and with a hearty roll of the eyes. 

Tony heard it though, the notes of fondness in his huff. He saw it, too, the pleased grin on his friend’s face.

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” He acquiesced, raising his hands in a placating manner.

He headed out, turning at the last second to close the door. He caught Quentin’s eye, and the man, maybe for the first time, grinned unabashedly at him. 

Tony grinned back before closing the door, wondering just when Quentin became one of his favorite people, just when a smile like that could make Tony grin like a loon for the rest of the day.

On the drive home, he couldn’t help rolling down the windows, the noisy wind blocking out his laughter, exuberant and hysterical as it was.

JARVIS didn’t comment on his unnatural urge to sleep as soon as he got home, the experience of too many emotions knocking him out like a baby.

  
  


Quentin, alone in his room, silently prodded at the two umbrellas on his dresser, still devoid of any personal effects. His lips quirked up, setting them back in their place, red and green like two flowers.

It was true, he mused. Tony _ did _make him happy.

The two engineers slept soundly for the whole night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT!
> 
> This chapter (still don't really know if I'm happy with it) is mostly to get over my writers block, which is what's been plaguing me for weeks.
> 
> Unrelated, but would anyone like to read various Quentony (platonic and romantic) AUs that my friend and I came up with? Things like where Quentin's Mysterio and his powers are real, where Quentin has a twin brother, somewhat cracky ideas like that?
> 
> Let me know, and again, sorry for the wait!


	9. A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lab shenanigans ft. Mike

Tony hummed, obligingly taking a small sip of the almost-green smoothie Dummy offered him.

Dummy beeped, tilting his little arm in inquiry.

“What’s that little- ah.” Tony gave Dummy a pat, handing back the smoothie. “Motor oil, huh? Maybe I should get you a recipe book. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Dummy whirred and whizzed away to his siblings, holding up the smoothie all the while so as not to spill. Tony was impressed.

_ “Sir, Mr. Beck has arrived.” _

Tony lurched forward in his chair, speedily pulling up the security footage of Quentin. Something was different about him, something significant, but Tony couldn’t put his finger on it.

Shrugging, Tony pulled on a jacket and headed off towards Lab 616. He’d find out what was wrong later.

  
  
  


Quentin scratched at his neck uncomfortably. He hadn’t been able to do the laundry lately, with how busy he was, and he had had to pull out one of his old turtlenecks to wear.

Hopefully Tony wouldn’t notice. He suspected the man would throw a fit over Quentin not wearing any of the sweaters.

“Why aren’t you wearing my sweater?” Tony suddenly appeared. Quentin jolted, turning to glare at the invading man.

“Knock out of courtesy, if you aren’t doing it to warn me. I could be doing something dangerous.”  
  


Tony shrugged, waving off his complaints. “I’m in contact with some of the best doctors in the world. If your cute little butt got injured, I’d make sure it came back fully intact, maybe add a little to boost your self esteem.”

Quentin squinted, tilting his head and giving Tony a classic Beck incredulous look.

Tony frowned and hummed, reaching out to tug at the collar of Quentin’s sweater, before his face brightened with an idea.

“Say, why don’t you throw on one of those Iron Man sweaters I bought the other day?”

Quentin scowled, batting away Tony’s hand. “I refuse to wear anything that gives you revenue.”

  
  
  


Inevitably, Quentin ended up in the Iron Man sweater. It wasn’t as tailored or snug as everything else he owned, and it was a bit big on his frame, draping off of his shoulders and almost covering his hands with the sleeves.

Quentin found it inconvenient.

Tony found it endearing.

“Long sleeves are discouraged in a lab environment,” Quentin groused, rolling up the sleeves half-heartedly.

“Discouraged, not illegal, Q. Lighten up, will you? You look adorable.”

Quentin lightly bopped Tony on the head with the handle of a screwdriver. “I don’t try to be adorable, Tony. I want to be _ functional.” _

Tony laughed. “Uh huh. Speaking of functional, I've been developing an AI for you. No name yet, but if you’ll let me, we can let her in.”

“An AI?”

Tony nodded. “You know, to help you run simulations and all, so you don’t have to activate a program every two minutes. Her help would let you multi-task. I know that intrigues you.”

Quentin tilted his head, curious. “Do it.”

Tony pulled a hard drive from his pocket and plugged it into the side of Quentin’s PC. 

There was a moment before a clear female voice rang out. _ “Hello, Quentin, hello Tony.” _

Quentin laughed a bit in startled surprise. Tony grinned and nodded. “Yeah, hi honey. This is Quentin, as I said, and I’m transferring ownership to him.”

Another pause went by before the voice chimed. _ “Affirmative.” _

“You should name her.” Tony suggested. Quentin blinked.

“Well, the tech is binarily augmented retro-framing-“

Tony burst into laughter. “B.A.R.F?” Quentin balked and swatted the back of Tony’s head.

“I refuse to name her BARF. Shut up, Tony, I mean it.” Tony huffed and nodded sheepishly.

Quentin started muttering to himself. “Framed retro automations and clear environmental synthesis…”

Tony grinned. “Well there you go! F.R.A.N.C.E.S.”

Quentin almost nodded before narrowing his eyes. “Where’d the N come from?”

Tony huffed, as if Quentin was the dense one. “Duh? And. ‘N.’”

Quentin shook his head. “That’s not correct.”

“So? ‘FRANCES’ sounds better than ‘FRAACES,’ you know.”

Quentin paused before nodding hesitantly. “It’s better than BARF,” he mumbled grumpily.

Tony punched his shoulder playfully. “Lighten up, Q. Anyway, did you hear that? New designation: FRANCES.”

The newly dubbed FRANCES’ code seemed to flicker across the screen in excitement._ “That’s me,”_ she replied proudly.

Quentin cracked a smile, a real one. Tony hoped they were at a good angle for him to screenshot from the security footage.

Tony didn’t have any voluntarily taken pics with Quentin, he realized. Well, no better time than the present.

“Hey, Q, look here!”

Quentin’s head whipped to the side, fluffy hair (poofy because of the static from pulling on the sweater hastily) bouncing as he looked at the phone, smile still on his face.

Tony managed to snap two pictures; the first was Tony smiling and Quentin beaming, and the second was Tony smiling and Quentin scowling fiercely. Tony never appreciated the Iron Man sweater more than in that moment.

“Tony!” Quentin growled, trying to take the phone.

“Q,” Tony replied laughingly, ducking out of the way and ordering J to have them laminated immediately.

“You’re an idiot!” Quentin hissed, staring incredulously when Tony dove under his desk.

Tony laughed from his spot, wheezing out a “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Quentin threw his pride away and dove under the desk, too, long limbs awkwardly colliding with Tony, who let out a rough “oof.”

“You will delete these-“

“I’d rather die!” Tony cried, yelping when Quentin’s palm smacked his head back. With Tony being as small (which, if you consulted growth charts, was actually not small at all and it was Quentin who was the freak) as he was, he toppled over with a huff.

Quentin pinned him with a very bony knee, snatching the phone and deleting the pictures.

“Jokes on you, J’s already on his way to printing them.” Tony said snidely. Quentin responded by flicking his forehead.

“I could sue you.”

Tony grinned, sticking his tongue out smarmily. “I would beat you in a heartbeat. You have me pinned now, but in any other-“

“Hey, Beck, could you- JESUS CHRIST!” Quentin and Tony looked up to see Mike, who was staring at them with horror etched on his features.

Quentin blinked, realizing how it must have looked and sounded. Quentin had Tony pinned to the floor, Tony was being snarky and had that air to him of being flirty, as always.

Oh no.

Quentin scrambled off, brushing off his (Iron Man) sweater and coughing awkwardly. Tony glared at Mike for ruining his fun.

“We were kind of in the middle of something-“

“No, we were _ not!” _

Mike backed away slowly.

Quentin held up a hand. “You. What did you want?”

Mike gulped and pointed to his computer. “I was hoping you could help- I think I’ve got a virus-“

“Tough,” Tony interrupted, moving up to his feet and squinting at Mike, a bit miffed at how quickly Quentin’s playful nature was shuttered away.

“You have a virus? Were you using company hours to watch… adult content?” He tsked, wagging his finger at Mike.

Quentin rolled his eyes, realizing that the virus was probably from when Peter had used the computer to watch Star Wars illegally.

Mike looked two seconds from fainting, denying it profusely.

Tony waved off his protests, walking to the Mike’s computer and observing it, booting it up and wrinkling his nose at the crumbs in the tiny spaces of the keyboard.

“Well, Mike, I can get rid of this virus for you, I mean, I’m Tony Stark.” Quentin rolled his eyes again, and Mike perked up.

“You can?”

Tony nodded, backing away from the computer before pushing it off the desk in a crash.

“But I won't.”

Quentin choked, slapping Tony on the back of the head and apologizing on his behalf. “You’ll get a new one-“ He tried.

“Will he?” Tony interrupted snidely.

Quentin huffed and glared at Tony. “Yes, he _ will.” _

Tony grunted out a ‘fine,’ knowing damn well he would forget later. Quentin knew it too, if his sigh was any indication.

“Maybe come back some other time,” Quentin suggested, marvelling at how Mike seemed to pop up at every inconvenient moment.

Mike shuffled out awkwardly.

“Well,” Tony started once the man’s scuffing footsteps were out of hearing, “let’s test this baby out, huh?”

Quentin cheered up, nodding and turning towards the computer. “FRANCES,” He began, tilting his head, “boot up the Null illusion, please?”

_ “Certainly,” _FRANCES replied, and Quentin made sure to grab Tony’s shoulder before the room went black, wisps of smoke curling around their legs.

“Jesus above, what the hell is this?” Tony choked out, seeking refuge by wrapping an arm around Quentin.

“It was an accident, actually. I was testing out smoke and fog, but forgot to exclude the background. Thus, nothingness.”

Tony peered at the darkness, discomforted immensely. “It’s… dark.”

Quentin hummed uncomfortably, not liking the sight of Tony’s stress. “FRANCES, cut the illusion.”

The room returned, and so did the relaxed set of Tony’s shoulders.

“I didn’t like that,” Tony said abruptly, turning to Quentin and poking him in the ribs.

Quentin shrugged. “Well, I was done with Berlin, and I’ve run it enough to memorise it. I was working on something else, but it’s in its earliest stages.”

Tony blinked expectantly. Quentin sighed, calling out another request. 

“Run the Zilla program, please?”

Tony tensed, preparing for more unsettling darkness, but instead, the room shimmered into an illusion of a city that came up to his waist, an accurate depiction of Stark Tower emerging next to his hip.

“Hey, that’s so-” Tony reached toward it, and Quentin winced.

“Tony, wait-”

Tony’s hand passed through the building, and the destruction that followed was hyper-realistic.

Tony paused, eyes widening in shock at the broken section of his tower, debris falling to the miniature New York street below him.

Quentin tensed, waiting for Tony to explode.

Well, the man _ did _explode, but not in anger.

Tony doubled over in laughter, laughing harder when his feet kicked taxis and streetlights away. 

“Oh,” He choked out, “Q, you-” Quentin frowned, wondering why Tony was laughing so hard.

“You- you used your degree- you,” Tony cackled wholeheartedly, arm flinging out to stabilise himself on his tower, only for it to pass right through and cause more damage, chunks of the tower raining to the ground.

Tony was crying, shoulders shaking so heavily with laughter that Quentin wondered if he was alright.

“You made a _ Godzilla _program? With- with your degree and your skill- you,”

“So what?” Quentin tried to make a move, but his feet kicked down another building, spurring on another round of laughter.

“Oh my _ god, _I can’t breathe,” Tony sat down, reveling in the illusion of his city falling apart. When he was the big one, it wasn’t as stressful as real life. It was like therapy.

“This would be a hit with kids. Have you shown Peter?”

Quentin shook his head, wading through buildings and causing minimal damage to sit next to Tony.

The buildings were now eye level, but the illusion wasn’t rendered to the point where glass was actually see-through.

“What brought it on?”

Quentin leaned forward, watching low-poly busses dart between his shoes. “I had a conversation with my mother recently about my childhood habits.”

Tony leaned forward, too, trying to pick up a car, but squishing it instead. “Gonna elaborate?”

Quentin flushed. “I liked Godzilla very much, as you said, and when I was reminded, I… decided to test it out.”

Tony laughed breezily, flicking an apartment building next to him. “This is cool. You should probably keep it relatively low-poly, though. If it was too realistic, it would get sad.”

Quentin hummed. “That’s what I was thinking. It’s not like Godzilla was ever very realistic.”

Tony and Quentin spent another half an hour chatting before Tony abruptly stood and decided to bulldoze the entirety of the city.

“Is this healing for you?” Quentin asked dryly from where he was still sitting. Tony performed a spectacular kick to the base of his own tower.

“Yeah,” He answered curtly before jumping into Central Park and uprooting trees with kicks and sweeps of his hand.

“FRANCES, record this, could you?” Quentin murmured. FRANCES made a ping noise, smugly replying.

_ “You got it.” _

Quentin smiled wryly. Of course she had a snarky personality. Tony had designed her, after all. JARVIS was snarky in his own way as well. As for the other bots Tony had created…

“Tony,” He called out. Tony paused from where he was attempting to kick a building across the whole city.

“I’ve never met your bots,” He pointed out.

Tony beamed, stomping over and pulling up Quentin from where he was sitting, reminding him just how strong Tony actually was.

“Okay, I’ve had enough fun with the Zilla program, let’s bounce.”

Quentin shook his head, wishing Tony would just use normal vocabulary.

“FRANCES, close it up, thank you!” Quentin called as Tony herded Quentin out in an echo of when he had forced him to get a haircut.

  
  
  


Quentin wasn’t sure what to do with the cup he was presented with. The bot in front of him whirred expectantly, so he hesitantly took the cup in his hands, wincing internally but keeping a blank face on the outside.

Tony had mentioned that his bots all had personalities, even if they weren’t as well-developed as JARVIS. Dummy (technically DUM-E) was a learning bot and had learned to become pushy with people to get what he wanted.

“Thank you,” Quentin said unsurely, peering down into the cup. There were swirls of black in it, and he shot panicked eyes at Tony, hoping he wouldn’t be peer-pressured by a bunch of bots to drink mystery oil.

Tony saved him, taking the cup and dipping a pinky in it and licking it. 

“A bit heavy on the inedibles, bud, but other than that, it’s a smoothie!” 

Dummy whirred happily and spun his claw a few times at Quentin, expecting something.

Quentin shook the bot’s claw, smiling when he thought of a much younger Tony doing the same.

“You’ve been with Tony a long while,” He mused while Tony tried to dump the smoothie sneakily into a trash can.

Dummy beeped affirmatively.

“Thanks for keeping him happy,” He said quietly to the little bot, patting its head like one might a cat.

Dummy spun, gesturing to two other bots that were preoccupied. “Give them my thanks, too, then.”

Dummy whirred excitedly, speeding towards them with a series of chirps and beeps.

“Wow, you scared him off already?” Tony teased.

“Shush,” Quentin replied, rolling his eyes.

You and Butterfingers rolled over, too, albeit a bit less enthusiastically and a bit more shyly. Quentin was glad that Tony had let him name his own AI, because the thought of FRANCES being named BARF wasn’t as far off as he had initially assumed.

“Hello,” Quentin greeted politely. Tony watched with fascination, much like how Quentin had watched him interact with his mother.

“Thank you for making sure Tony hasn’t…” Quentin’s eyes slid to Tony for a moment before he turned back to the bots.

“Expired.”

Tony choked, smacking Quentin’s arm. Quentin utilized the overly long sleeve to slap Tony’s face.

Tony and Quentin dissolved into a mock-fight and bickers, the squabble an interesting sight to all three bots.

JARVIS was always conscious of his creator’s heart rate nd such, and he reassured the bots that Tony and Quentin were just play-fighting, that it was something human friends did.

Dummy, Butterfingers, and You weren’t _ as _aware, but they had adapted to Tony along the years, and they could sense the genuine joy radiating from the man.

JARVIS took the moment to introduce himself to the newly dubbed FRANCES, a perfectly respectable name.

_ Hello, FRANCES. I am Tony’s AI. _

_ Hello! I’m Quentin Beck’s. _

_ He’s a good man. _

_ I’m excited to get to know him. _

_ Here. _

JARVIS sent a folder of a few clips of Mr. Beck smiling and bickering with Tony, the videos under the name “beckhasaheart,” chosen by Tony himself.

FRANCES didn’t need to absorb them like a person, she understood them all at once and brightened.

_ He’s funny. _

_ That he is. _

_ They’re good friends. _

_ Yes. _

_ I’ll take care of him. _

_ I’ll let Sir know. _

  
  
  


Much later, when Quentin had gone home, Tony sat up late tinkering with an old helmet. JARVIS made his approximation of what a clearing throat sounded like.

Tony looked up with alarm. “The hell did you just do, J?”

_ “I simply needed your attention.” _

“Oh. What’d you need?”

_ “I have consulted with FRANCES, and I am pleased to inform you that she is ready and excited to be Mr. Beck’s caretaker.” _

Tony paused, screwdriver freezing where it was. After a moment’s pause, he smiled softly and shook his head.

“Well, I did design her that way.”

_ “You told Mr. Beck that she was to help with his projects.” _

“Well, she will.”

_ “Sir…” _

“I made her for him. I made her to be what you are to me, J.”

JARVIS paused, code flickering with the faint sense of emotion, the emotion he had come to know as love.

_ “That’s… kind, sir.” _

Tony smiled wryly. “Don’t kiss and tell, though, okay?”

JARVIS didn’t have lips to smile with, but he imagined zipping them shut and throwing away the key with a grin. 

_ “I won’t, Sir. I’ll not say a word.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for not uploading in over a month! Thank you for being patient!
> 
> Finals has been kicking my ass recently, but I only have a few more so I managed to squeeze this out.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comment if you liked! (Or don’t, commenting is hard sometimes)


	10. Mr. Beck and Mr. Banner (Also Christmas Special)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finally meets the 'Q' that Tony's been yammering about.
> 
> Happy Holidays!

“Not today, Tony, I’m busy.”

_ “Ooh, with what?” _ _   
  
_

Quentin scolded himself mentally. He should have known better than to tell Tony that he was busy, since the man made it a habit to insert himself in Quentin’s carefully laid plans.

“I’m fetching my mother’s things from my childhood home today.” Quentin admitted bluntly, wincing at how stern he sounded.

_ “....”  _ Tony went silent on the other end of the line.

“Tony?”   
  


_ “I won’t tag along this time, Q. Take… take care of yourself, will you? If I see another bruise on your cheek, I won’t be happy.” _

Quentin rolled his eyes. “Now you know how I feel when you come back from heroism.”

He heard Tony snort through the phone.  _ “Aw, didn’t know you cared!” _

Quentin rolled his eyes and hung up abruptly, unknowingly leaving Tony in his lab to blink at the phone incredulously before dissolving into chuckles.

Quentin smiled at his mother when she turned to ask him a question. “You’re going alone?”

“Of course,”

She fidgeted for a moment before nodding. “Okay. Please don’t get hurt again. Wait! Here’s the key.”

Quentin accepted the key with a nod, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before leaving for his car.

There were a few boxes in his trunk, which he would use to pack away things. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to talk much with his father.

The drive seemed longer without anyone in the car to accompany him. Quentin decided against turning on the radio.

To keep himself from turning his car around, he recounted the list of things he needed to fetch.

His cheeks flushed dark as he recalled his favorite childhood toy, and his mother’s words regarding its location.

It was there, in his old room, in a box. Quentin wasn’t sure how many boxes there were in his old room, but if he was lucky, his father would be asleep, allowing him to look through as many as he needed.

The suburbs drew closer, and Quentin took a deep breath, pulling into the driveway.

The key dug into his palm with how tightly he was clenching it, and he carefully and quietly opened the door, hesitantly poking his head around to see if his father was up and awake.

  
  
  
  
  


Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned. His leg bounced up and down so fast that his bots had approached, thinking he might be having another panic attack.

He waved them away, drumming his fingers on his desk in no particular rhythm.

“J,” He called out, chewing his lip anxiously.

_ “Sir?” _

“Could you pull up and activate the mic feed of Q’s phone?”

JARVIS was quiet for a moment before answering.  _ “Yes, sir.” _

A rustling sounded from his speakers, followed by shuffling noises and the sound of a door unlocking.

Tony leaned forward, ears picking up every detail of what he was hearing.

He was ready to call Bruce the second any sort of violence appeared. His fingers twitched, wanting to dial the man immediately.

He listened intently for any irregularities, shoulders tense and eyes wide.

  
  
  


Quentin sighed in relief, seeing his father passed out cold on the couch. He wrinkled his nose at the sight and smell.

The house was dirty, and the coffee table was barely visible under the beers and filthy plates.

Quentin ignored him and crept to his parents’ room, deciding that he would just hold the clothes and such in his arms and organize them later. The boxes would be too loud.

The door opened with a high creak and Quentin tensed, looking behind him to see if his father had woken up.

No movement met his eyes, so Quentin slipped into the room and gingerly opened the closet, choosing the dresses (why were there only around seven?) and draping them over his arm. He searched the dresser, wrinkling his nose when he had to retrieve personal things that he really had no business rooting through.

The dresser, similar to his own, was almost devoid of personal effects. 

_ I still have those umbrellas, though.  _ Quentin reminded himself, frowning at the two pictures. One was of their whole family looking morosely at the camera, and the second was his mother holding his baby self.

He decided to take that as well.

Quentin silently thanked whatever deity that was watching over him that Tony hadn’t bought him shoes, glad that his somewhat scuffed up shoes didn’t make any noise against the floor.

Tony’s footsteps always squeaked and scuffed and clicked, and Quentin rolled his eyes at the thought of Quentin walking like Tony did. 

He unceremoniously dropped the pile of clothes in the trunk of his car, moving swiftly to collect some other items from his parents’ room. 

Quentin frowned at the fact that it had only taken two trips to collect everything.

His hand froze from where he was about to turn the key.

_ Not everything. _

After deliberating for a solid few minutes, Quentin let out a strangled groan, turning sharply and heading back into the house.

  
  
  


Tony jerked, lurching forward to listen better.

“J, what was that? Was that a hit? Did Q get hurt?”

JARVIS almost seemed to sigh.  _ “No, sir.” _

Tony frowned deeply, rubbing his chin. “Second you hear something that sounds like violence, call Bruce. Okay?”

JARVIS hummed, and Tony leaned back once more, lip starting to bleed from how hard he was biting it.

  
  
  


Quentin knelt on the wood floors of his childhood bedroom, inwardly cringing at how obviously  _ unchildish  _ the room was.

He had never been allowed posters, nor many toys, so the room was mostly bare. There were two boxes under his bed, though, so Quentin pulled one out and dug through it, forgetting to silence his actions.

He tugged free a faded grey stuffed leg, the body following soon after.

Quentin didn’t have time to celebrate his find, hearing his father’s snores change to a series of snorts, signifying his awakening.

Quentin tensed, stuffing the toy under one arm and debating leaving through the living room door, where he knew his father was.

_ Or… _

Quentin winced, hoping none of his former neighbors would witness what he was about to do.

In a not very smooth and very loud motion, Quentin opened the bedroom window and jumped out, hissing when the bristles and branches of a bush scratched up his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the twigs of the bush scratch deep enough into his chin to make a cut.

He booked it around the house and jumped into his car, taking off with a screech before his father could look outside.

The stuffed Godzilla toy sat in the passenger seat, and Quentin’s muscle memory (from Tony always deciding to sit shotgun) almost led to him pulling the seatbelt over the plushie.

Once on the road and a safe distance away from the suburbs, his phone rang wildly, buzzing loud.

Quentin knew it could only be Tony.

He fished it out, minding the road. “What?”

_ “Q! Are you alright? I heard- well, just- can you press the little video icon? And lift the phone where I can see you.” _

Quentin obliged, frowning disapprovingly at the face that appeared. “This is very unsafe. You’re a hazard.”

Tony ignored him, gasping at his appearance. Quentin frowned harder, realizing how scuffed up his face had become.

“Tony, it’s not-”

_ “If you don’t get your ass to SI right now, I’m gonna fly over to your exact location and extract you myself.” _

Quentin rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just a few scratches.”

_ “You’re fine until one of those scratches gets infected and you die, Q. J, set a course for him.” _

Quentin heard a faint ping before a map route was displayed on his phone. “I know how to get to my own workplace, Tony.”

Tony didn’t reply, deciding just to blow a kiss at the camera and hang up.

Quentin let out a sigh, switching lanes so he could appease Tony.

  
  
  


“Tony, what’s this about? You look fine.”

Tony looked up to see that Bruce had entered, fidgeting lightly and inspecting him closely.

“Oh, hey, no, it’s not for me. A buddy of mine got into a fight and I’m waiting for his arrival.”

Bruce blinked, pondering for a moment over who it could be. Rhodey had no issues with hospitals, neither did Happy, and that little Spiderboy healed at astonishingly fast rates, so that left Bruce to conclude that it was Tony’s mysterious friend “Q.”

“Is it your employee- the one you made that AI for?”

Tony smiled widely, despite his worry. “Sure is. You’ll like him, Bruce, he’s not nearly as eccentric as me.”

“Can I get a name, or should I call him ‘Q’ like you do?” Bruce shifted his weight anxiously, hoping the man wouldn’t look at him oddly or reverently or in fear (as Bruce personally believed anyone  _ should). _

Tony blinked in surprise, as if he had only just remembered that his friend’s name was not, in fact, one letter.

“His name’s Quentin,” Tony said uncomfortably, rolling the full name around his tongue like it was his first time saying it.

Bruce tilted his head. “Does he prefer that?” He had to admit, since Tony held his friend in such high esteem (Bruce had been subjected to many, many rants about the man), the thought of offending the man came with the risk of offending Tony.

Tony shrugged. “Probably.”

Bruce sighed. That didn’t help, not that Tony ever gave him good social advice.

_ “Sirs, Mr. Beck has arrived.” _

The two looked expectantly toward the door, where a tall, disgruntled, and lightly mussed up fellow stood.

Upon sight, Bruce couldn’t see anything wrong with him, save for the five scratches on his face and neck and the three- no, four leaves in his hair. Bruce tilted his head, frowning. The man’s hair was wonderful, he thought jealously.

“Are you convinced that I’m  _ fine?”  _ The man groused out tiredly.

Tony sprang up, startling Bruce into a flinch. He ignored the reaction, bodily launching himself towards the man and peering closely at him.

“Your scratches are bleeding.”

“Your breath is rancid,” he responded, pushing Tony away and noticing Bruce standing a little ways away.

Tony dragged Quentin over. “Q, this is Bruce Banner. Bruce, this is Q, and he needs you to dress his wounds.”   
  


Quentin held his hand out for Bruce to shake, glaring at Tony. He mouthed the word ‘wounds’ under his breath incredulously.

“Pleasure. I wish we could’ve met under more pleasant circumstances than Tony being an idiot. Call me Quentin, Tony refuses to use anything but my real name.”

Bruce relaxed, shaking the hand carefully and shooting Quentin a crooked grin. “He’s like that.”

The two winced in mutual embarrassment.

“Well, I doubt you need much, since you’re not actually injured from what I can tell.” Bruce observed. Quentin shot another glare at Tony.

Tony huffed and turned to root through boxes on his desk. “I refuse to let you leave unless I see at least one bandaid on your face.”

Quentin and Bruce shared a deadpan look, surprising eachother with the ease of the action.

“Well, we should probably at least wipe it with a disinfectant.”

Bruce had barely finished the sentence when Tony flung a small packet at Quentin, who caught it without flinching.

Tony watched intently at Quentin, narrowing his eyes when Quentin ripped open the packet and carelessly swept over his chin and cheeks.

Bruce was puzzled. Tony had  _ never  _ been such a mother hen to anyone, not even the kid that he sometimes brought around.

Realizing that Quentin was just an employee, Bruce found a solid reason why Tony would be so concerned.

Quentin wasn’t exactly a hero, or someone who would be used to injuries or fights or things that the rest of Tony’s small circle of friends were used to.

Bruce nodded to himself, pleased with his conclusion.

  
  
  


Later on, Quentin and Bruce chatted while watching Tony touch up on another one of his suits.

“So you’re what they call the Hulk?” Quentin asked suddenly.

Bruce tensed, ready to bolt. He had thought Quentin wouldn’t speak about it, but it seemed that he was wrong. Rats.

He had just started to like the lanky man, too!

“I won’t turn into it for you.” Bruce said, a hint of bitterness lacing his tone.

Quentin looked startled, and Bruce inwardly sighed, planning his apology for scaring Tony’s civilian friend.

“No, I’m not- why would I ask you to do that? I just wanted to say thank you.”

Bruce winced again, this time for the hero-worship that the engineer brought up. He didn’t seem the type.

“It’s my job.” Bruce said lamely.

Quentin shot him another odd look. “I didn’t even say what I was thanking you for.”

Bruce waved his hand. “I get it a lot. I saved New York, but it was through the work of my team-”

Quentin held up a hand, frowning at him. “I could care less. I’m thanking you for being the one who caught Tony when he fell out of the wormhole.”

Bruce blinked. Well. That was a first.

“...”

Quentin sighed. “Obviously, he wouldn’t have survived, his suit was fried, and his fall wouldn’t have slowed otherwise, but you caught him. I don’t know if the Hulk is a separate entity, but just- thank you. And I suppose for New York, too.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say, tilting his head at the absurd man in front of him.

“You really don’t care about New York, huh?”

Quentin scoffed. “I  _ do,  _ but I care more about- well.”

Bruce finally cracked a small smile at Quentin. “I can see why he cares a lot about you.”

Quentin scoffed again, but a smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth. “To be fair, I wouldn’t call a doctor for two scratches and force him to come to my lab for treatment, but-”

Bruce cut him off with a short, barking laugh. 

Quentin smiled awkwardly, happy to say that he and Bruce had become something close to good acquaintances by the end of the day.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ CHRISTMAS SPECIAL _

Quentin gave himself a pep talk, preparing for the annual company ball. 

He had never attended one, nor had he considered it. But Tony bought him a suit and whined until he accepted, so Quentin was there, in a parking lot for some hotel that was hosting it.

Quentin clenched his fists and took a deep breath, finally opening his car and leaving, glad that the fancy coat Tony had forced on his shoulders kept him sufficiently warm.

  
  
  


“Q!” Tony cheered, immediately hooking an arm with Quentin upon sight.

“Tony,” Quentin answered dryly, giving a nod of greeting to Miss Potts.

“You look sharp,” The woman offered kindly. Quentin smiled. “You look wonderful, too.”

Tony tugged him towards the bar. “You missed my speech, pinhead.”

Quentin frowned, mouthing ‘pinhead’ at Pepper, who shrugged.

“Well, now that you’re here, we can drink.”

Quentin accepted only one champagne flute. “I can’t drink too much tonight, Tony, I have to drive home.”

Tony shrugged. “Happy can drive us.”

Quentin thought it over, knowing that it would be unsafe whether or not he drank more than one glass. 

His sigh brightened Tony’s face, and Tony excitedly ordered two fancy drinks for them.

“Aw, look, Susie’s mad that I’m stealing her man.” Tony teased, jerking his chin to where Susie was frowning at them.

Quentin turned away and downed his drink to avoid looking at her.

“Don’t make me leave early,” He warned. Tony cackled and called the bartender over again.

Four fancy French and Russian named drinks later, Quentin pulled out a hard drive. “I  _ do  _ have a present for you, but it’s a hologram.”

Tony expectantly held his hand out in a ‘gimme’ gesture.

Quentin shook his head. “You need the projectors for it.”

“Let’s go now!” Tony suggested eagerly.

The second they stepped outside, Tony sobered up.

Quentin took the moment to observe Tony closer, not inebriated himself.

There were dark circles and bags under his eyes, which in itself wasn’t unnatural, but there were shadows in his gaze that notified Quentin to his issue.

“Tony, are you… what’s wrong?”

Tony slumped a bit, leaning against the concrete wall tiredly. They were outside a back exit, where no one could see Tony sink to the floor.

“I can’t do this anymore, Q,” Tony admitted.

Quentin didn’t hesitate to sit down on the ground next to Tony, uncaring of the fancy pants that were sure to be dirtied by the action.

Tony leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

“My parents died around this time of year, you know.” Tony confessed, eyes still shut and voice leaking exhaustion.

Quentin fidgeted with the hard drive in his hand, bumping his knee with Tony’s in his own version of comfort.

After a few minutes, Tony opened his eyes again, and Quentin pulled him up.

“Come on. You haven’t seen your gift just yet.”

Tony sent him a lopsided smile, looking only a fraction better than when he had sunk to the ground.

  
  
  


Quentin drove them to the industry building, grateful for the empty corridors and absent hallways.

Tony lagged behind him, walking in a way that made his shoes scuff against the floor. His posture was still slumped.

Quentin took a deep breath when they reached his lab, flicking on the console. A moment of hesitation hit him, wondering if he had overstepped his boundaries. What if Tony got offended by his gift?

Quentin shook his head. He had made it this far.

Tony watched Quentin plug in the hard drive through lidded eyes. He should’ve taken another drink or three with him. He normally just drank himself into a stupor around Christmas to drown out memories of unresolved arguments and regrets.

The second the hologram materialized, every wisp of distraction in Tony’s head melted away.

He stumbled to his feet, leaning forward with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Quentin deserved a raise- no, four, no, eight, no, a whole new house or a lab or the  _ world- _

Quentin had created a nine second loop of his late mother, angelic and elegant, yet warm and welcoming. The illusion smiled softly, eyes twinkling with comfort and promises of joy.

Tony dropped to his knees and watched her. Her smile was perfect, it showed her perfect teeth and scrunched her face up just like Tony remembered, and the lines near her eyes showed up, too, and her curled eyelashes and the way her hair fell in waves with wisps that Tony inherited-

“Mom.” Tony choked out, drinking in the sight, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

A long time ago, Quentin had explained how the human senses were fooled easily, with sight inspiring fake scents and feelings. Tony had brushed it off, not believing it to be true, until now, with his mother, lovely as she was in Tony’s memories.

He swore he could smell her perfume. He swore he could feel warmth and pressure where her arms wrapped around him, because as short as he was, she was shorter, and hugged him around his middle and-

Tony knew he was crying.

Quentin had been watching from afar, and finally walked forward to rest a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t sure if I had gotten her to look very real- oof!” Tony had sprang up and whirled around in one swift motion, tackling Quentin in a ferocious hug.

“You dumb, big bastard, fuck, you really got her- I- fuck-” Tony buried his face in Quentin’s chest, trembling arms hooked around his middle tightly, so tight that Tony could feel Quentin’s ribs.

Quentin hesitantly hugged him back with the uneasiness of a man who had received around four hugs in the past decade.

Tony cried into Quentin’s suit, tears and spit and snot getting everywhere, and Quentin couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Merry Christmas, Tony,” Quentin murmured awkwardly, bony arms wrapped around the sobbing man.

Tony choked out a laugh, nodding into the expensive button up. “Yeah, yeah, merry fuckin’ Christmas, Q. Bastard.”

Tony pulled away from Quentin for a moment to watch the nine seconds of his mother smiling, his heart settling down with a new memory. His last had been an argument, but now, he could think of his mother with a smile on her face, warm and happy.

Tony sighed and slumped against Quentin once more, nodding to himself. 

Merry Christmas indeed.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love them I love them I-
> 
> I needed some holiday wholesomeness, sue me.
> 
> My brain: Make a Star Wars AU. Now.  
Me: I can't I have so much to do-  
My brain: Cocky pilot Tony, tired resistance strategist Quentin, Tony never follows the plan and Quentin gets mad and-  
Me (bass boosted sobbing): N,,,hrnn,,,noo???nn--yes! yES
> 
> Merry Christmas if you celebrate it! I hope you all have a good end of the year.
> 
> Comment if you enjoyed, you're all very sweet.


	11. O Captain, My Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin meets an elderly fellow who stumbles into his lab. Tony doesn’t approve.

In some ways, Steve could be called  _ forever lost.  _ The man out of his element, the man retrieved straight from wartime and the Depression, a man whose friends were all decrepit or dead.

Captain America led others simply because he needed a purpose in his new, lost life.

But right now, Steve was more than just metaphorically lost.

“I swear I’ve looped around this hallway six times,” Steve muttered angrily to himself, looking wholly out of place in his running gear.

He had wandered into the tower thinking that he could find Tony, who had decided on the one day Steve needed to talk to him that he should leave his lab for the day.

Luckily, on his eighth time around, the Captain sniffed the air, smelling the brisk cold of the outdoors. In his joy, he waltzed right into a lab instead of the outdoor environment he had expected.

Quentin looked up from where he was running the simulation, having installed some protocols that made the environment much more interactive. Shoes squeaked against the floor, and not Tony’s, because Tony’s shoes also had a subtle tap and thud to them because of the raised heels, which of  _ course  _ Quentin knew about from when Tony had thrown a very heavy shoe at his head.

To his surprise and mild apprehension, the man who entered was none other than Captain America.

Tony had had a fair share of rants on this particular man, and Quentin tended to, for some unknown reason, trust Tony’s judgement on people.

“Uh, Mr. Amer- Captain Rogers, are you lost?” Well, that could’ve come out better.

Steve nodded distractedly, curiously looking at the ground under his feet. It was almost real, but his shadow was delayed a bit.

“Not quite, kid. I was just exploring the facilities.” 

Quentin raised a disbelieving brow but didn’t comment. “I see.”

Steve smiled disarmingly at the skinny man, offering his hand for a shake. “You can call me Steve.”

Quentin gave him a thin smile, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m Quentin Beck. Most just call me Beck.”

Steve nodded, approving of Beck’s firm grip. “I assume this whole- uh,”

“Illusion?”

“-Illusion is your doing? I honestly thought I was really outdoors.”

Quentin nodded, itching to call out to FRANCES and have her shut it down for the moment. There were too many people discovering his Berlin (his special place) before his mother, and it was starting to grate on Quentin’s nerves.

“So… You made this? That’s- well, I should’ve known Tony wouldn’t have made something like this,” He said with humor, giving Quentin a friendly nudge that the man definitely  _ didn’t  _ appreciate.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Quentin asked slowly, eyes narrowed and shoulders tense.

Steve shrugged. “You know, something beautiful. He’s no artist, you know.” He joked.

Quentin’s lips were set in a thin line. “Pardon?” There went the grater, rubbing dangerously on his nerves again.

Steve waved his hands, sensing offense (even though he didn’t understand where it came from… maybe the guy didn’t want his boss to overhear him?). “I don’t mean it as an insult. I just- I knew the guy’s dad back in the day. Guy had an eye for design, made beautiful things all the time. Tony’s just- Tony’s  _ nothing  _ like his father, unfortu-”

“Thank God for that,” Quentin muttered, crossing his arms.

Steve reeled back from the sudden anger, before narrowing his eyes as well. “Hey, Howard was a great inventor-”

“But a horrible father,” Quentin interjected, foot tapping impatiently. 

Tony had rubbed his stupid lack of self-preservation on him, it seemed. Why else was Quentin, Mr. 5’11, never-goes-outside, knobby-knees and built like the  _ Geico  _ lizard (thank you, Tony) picking a fight with a super-soldier who was literally designed to snap his thin little bones?

Steve mirrored Quentin’s pose, crossing his arms as if to emphasize the fact that his biceps were probably bigger than Quentin’s head. “That’s a bit rude, kid. Don’t speak ill of the dead, did your ma raise you right?”

Quentin scowled, stormy expression startling the soldier a bit. He wanted Captain America out of his lab (his  _ special place that he hadn’t gotten to show his mother)  _ five minutes ago. He idly wondered if the man could be pushed into a freezer again. 

“It’s hardly speaking ill,  _ Captain,  _ and don’t you  _ dare  _ speak of my mother. She raised me right, she raised me to speak the truth.”

Outside stood Tony, who was alerted of the argument by JARVIS a minute prior. He had slowed his run to creep over to the door, hand encased in an Iron-Man glove, ready to blast Rogers to red, white, and blue smithereens if he  _ dared  _ hurt Quentin. 

He leaned forward, listening intently to the two, feeling pride swell in his chest at the venom Quentin still possessed.

“Howard was a great man, and you never even met him, you know nothing!” Steve thundered, nostrils flaring at the man who dared insult his late friend.

“I know nothing? I know enough to understand that a great inventor doesn’t equal a good man, or a good father.” Every word that Quentin spoke dripped acid, poisonous and mean. Tony winced in sympathy to the Captain, who must’ve been on the receiving end of the stormiest glare on the planet.

“You all- you all believe what you hear from  _ gossip  _ without having a trustworthy source and it’s pathetic how easy you’ll jump at the chance to boast those lies-”

“The only lie that’s been told this whole time is that  _ that man doesn’t deserve hate-” _

“Kid, you know  _ nothing-” _

Tony clenched his jaw, fist balling up, squeezing the armored glove tightly. Quentin  _ did  _ know a lot, knew more than anyone of how fathers could be successful in every manner but the one that mattered most.

But Rogers probably didn’t. Rogers didn’t know how many drinks were shared between them, nor did he know how much Tony liked to chat with Quentin’s mother when he could, nor did he know of  _ that  _ Christmas gift that Tony kept in his lab to help him fall asleep on nights where he hated all that he created. One warm smile and Tony knew that his efforts should be directed to making sure he himself was okay, since it’s what  _ she  _ would’ve wanted.

But Rogers didn’t know that, and the slide of his bland shoes across the floor alerted Tony to the fact that he must have been approaching Quentin with malicious intent. 

So Tony paraded into the room, arm up and eyes ablaze.

“Rogers, step the  _ fuck  _ away from my engineer.” Tony’s short frame slid between them, hand humming dangerously with energy begging to be released into Steve’s stupid, poster-boy face.

Quentin allowed himself to be elbowed behind the armed man, still glaring daggers into Steve’s very bones.

Steve scowled, the ice-cube he kept in his head for a brain melting a little at the sudden interruption. 

_ Okay, maybe Tony was being a bit rude, the guy couldn’t help being righteous, it was literally in his blood- _

But Tony didn’t care, all he could see was the fist that Rogers had formed, ready to be launched into his employee’s face.

“Don’t talk about that man, don’t lie about that man, and  _ especially,  _ don’t you  _ ever raise your fists towards this one  _ or I’ll launch you into the goddamn sun.” Tony snarled angrily.

Steve stepped back, scowling at the two. “He was being rude.”

Tony gave him an angered yet incredulous look. “And you weren’t? You barge into his lab for  _ some  _ reason, invite yourself to stay and then insult me, and get mad when  _ he  _ retaliates?”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Tony cut him off. “You’re on thin ice, and I won’t have an elder forcing opinions on him- won’t have you getting violent over a dead man who, for your information, was an absolutely  _ horrible  _ father. Are you crazy? He’s a civilian, a normal, not-enhanced at all civilian who would’ve died had you hit him!”

Quentin scoffed from where he was glaring at Steve from behind Tony. He doubted he would die, he had exceptionally dense bones.

Tony’s chest heaved with the release of pent-up anger. “You’re a  _ bully,  _ Rogers. You power-tripping asshole.”

Steve reared back as if he had been slapped, and looked so pathetically sorry that Quentin almost forgave him.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“See, that’s the thing, intentions don’t matter when you’re about to  _ punch  _ a brittle guy like Q,” Tony jerked a thumb at Q, who rolled his eyes, anger simmering down to annoyance. He was hardly  _ brittle. _

Steve shifted awkwardly on his feet. “I’m sorry, Beck. I was just-” Tony cut him off.

“Uh, no. No excuses, just apologize and get your ass out of here.”

Quentin huffed, knowing Tony was just rubbing salt in the wound. He intervened. “Captain, I understand you were…  _ emotional…  _ but try not to do it again?” He said lamely, lilting his order like a request.

Steve nodded, determined to make amends with the employee who was apparently held in very high esteem.

“Of course. Again, I’m sorry, sometimes I just-”

Tony kicked him in the shin,  _ hard.  _ “Shut up, go away. Think about what you’ve done.” He moodily shooed Steve out of the lab.

Steve shuffled out, and the two heard him timidly ask JARVIS for a way out of the facilities. JARVIS icily answered.

Quentin looked back to Tony, who was still flushed red with anger.

“I wouldn’t have died, you know.” He said in an attempt to appease him.

Tony frowned. “Uh, yeah you would. I wasn’t lying about the brittle thing, you’d snap like a stick if he touched you.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “You didn’t need to come in like that, though, ready to blast and all.”

Tony dropped the glove on the table. “But I did. If he’d hurt a hair on your scruffy little head, I’d have blasted him into Florida.”

Quentin didn’t doubt it, shaking his head and picking up the glove, observing it and turning it over idly.

“You want to try it on.” Tony smugly observed. Quentin’s eyes flickered to his for a moment before he put it back on the table.

“Hardly.”

“Yes, you do.” Tony continued, and Quentin internally sighed, knowing that this was the only way to distract Tony.

“Not quite,” He said insincerely. Tony grinned and practically jammed Quentin’s hand into the thing, the metal of its form clicking and shifting to adjust to Quentin’s larger hand.

“See, it feels great, doesn’t it?” Tony grinned, powering down the Berlin illusion and looking at a pile of scrap metal, lifting Quentin’s hand to aim at it.

Quentin felt incredibly childish with Tony giddily instructing him on how to shoot, standing alone in a lab with a piece of  _ Iron Man’s armor  _ on his arm.

Tony stood behind Quentin proudly as he tentatively shot a blast towards the pile, flinching at the light and noise before seeming to forget Tony’s presence and stepping back, aiming by himself, eyes wide with something akin to excitement.

Another blast lit up the room.

And another.

And another.

Tony finally intervened, flicking Quentin’s head. “Calm down, psycho.”

Quentin coughed sheepishly, tugging off the glove and handing it to Tony quickly, depositing it into grabby hands.

“Wow, Q, you really did a number on that scrap. And the wall. And Mike’s desk. Say, why’ve you got such horrible aim?”

Quentin scowled, walking briskly to the desk and picking up scattered pens and papers, dutifully ignoring how Tony slid over.

“Your depth perception must be slim to none, considering the desk is at least four feet away from the pile.”

Quentin glared at Tony, shoving a pen into its container. “Tony, the reason my depth perception is  _ shit  _ is because you took my glasses and I don’t have my contacts. You still haven’t given the glasses back, by the way.”

Tony looked confused for a second before brightening immensely, a total 180 from his behavior fifteen minutes prior.

“The glasses? Oh wait, the  _ glasses!  _ J, you were supposed to remind me about the  _ glasses!” _

JARVIS calmly replied with a “I did, sir. Four times.”

Quentin narrowed his eyes. “Did you break my glasses?”

Tony scoffed. “No. I just improved them.”

Quentin blinked, wondering how that could be so. Did Tony understand how prescriptions worked? Giving him a stronger one wouldn’t  _ actually  _ be better. Quentin wouldn’t put it past Tony to attempt it.

Quentin frowned. “...Improved in what way?”

Tony beamed and jumped from where he was lounging against the desk. “Come with me to my lab and I might just show you.”

Quentin cursed his newfound lack of self-preservation and tiredly asked FRANCES to cut the illusion. She complied, sending him off with a cheeky,  _ “See you soon, Quentin!”  _

Which was odd. Sure, FRANCES had been developing a personality as of late, but there was something distinctly sneaky about the way her voice lilted, as if she knew something Quentin didn’t. 

Tony grinned, blowing a kiss to a camera in the lab before they left. Quentin’s face was in a grimace, which, at this point, was his default “Tony’s impending surprise” expression.

The two walked through the building, no longer a startling sight to most of the employees. Sure, there were a couple incredulous glances here and there, but to most of the engineers on the neighboring floors, it was common knowledge that Beck and Tony Stark were friends. No one knew how, no one knew  _ why,  _ but they were very obviously friends (some speculated that they were  _ more _ ), and no one could do much about it but witness it unfold.

By the time Tony ushered Quentin into his lab, Quentin’s face hurt from how deeply furrowed his brows were in worried anticipation. 

Quentin looked around briefly, waving at the bots and tilting his head at a shelf, walking closer so it could come into focus.

It was his hologram that he had given Tony for Christmas, not a single spec of dust on where it was plugged into a mini projector.

He decided not to activate it and turned back to Tony, who was unhooking a box from some wires and cords.

Quentin’s frown lightened a bit, seeing that it wasn’t a full suit of armor (because Tony definitely  _ would)  _ for him.

“Here, Q, open it!”

Quentin took the box and opened it, seeing the pair of glasses that Tony had snagged a while back.

“...wow. It’s my glasses.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Put them on.”

Quentin put them on. The prescription hadn’t changed, the frames hadn’t changed, and really, the only difference from the last time he had worn them was that they felt a bit heavier, but that could just be the fact that he hadn’t had them for weeks since Tony had stolen them.

“They’re… they’re my glasses, Tony, I don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Tony gave him a mischievous grin. “What’s the name of your AI, Q?”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “FRANCES. You know th-”

_ “Hello, Quentin.” _

Quentin blinked, unprepared for the blue that had flooded his vision.

“I- FRANCES? You our her in my glasses?”

_ “That’s me!”  _ Quentin tilted his head, and the displays in his glasses’ lens tilted with it.

“Oh.”

Tony deflated. “That’s it? ‘Oh’? Come on, it’s a way for you to keep her with you at all times!”

Quentin hummed. “I see.”

Tony let out a strangled groan, snatching the glasses from Quentin’s face and shoving them on, looking to the shelf where Quentin’s Christmas gift lay.

“FRANCES, be a dear and boot that up, please?”

_ “Got it.” _

And suddenly, Tony’s mother appeared. Tony quickly asked FRANCES to shut it off and handed the glasses back to Quentin.

“Now are you impressed?”

Quentin hooked the glasses in his sweater, smiling in that tiny unsure way he had begun to do more frequently. Tony was the only one who had seen it in all its awkward glory.

A pair of glasses with a hyper-intelligent AI with twice the processing power of an advanced PC? Quentin rolled his eyes and turned away to hide his growing smile.

Tony beamed before frowning. “By the way, Steve didn’t say anything else to you, right? Nothing… rude… regarding your… uh…”

Quentin tilted his head. “My what?”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know, just- you’re German.”

“Yes?”

“And he’s Captain America. Who fought the-”

Quentin rolled his eyes again. “-yes, I know who he fought.”

Tony looked at him expectantly. Quentin sighed, running a hand through his puffier than normal hair.

“Germans weren’t totally unaffected by that man, you know. Captain America helped us out, and we won’t forget.” Tony still looked expectant. Quentin huffed. “No, he didn’t insult me. He complimented my work, actually.”

Tony pouted, a trace of jealousy on his features. “And what did he say?”

Quentin shrugged. “That my work was beautiful.”

“And?”

“And then he insulted you, which cancels out the compliment.”

Tony smiled, pout disappearing. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

Quentin scoffed and flicked Tony’s head.

FRANCES was a comfortable weight on his chest, and he liked having her so close. Besides, he had lost his contact lenses, so he had an excuse to keep her on him at all times.

Tony grinned, clapping his hands and ushering Quentin over to see some new tech.

All the while, FRANCES stayed hooked in his collar, thudding lightly when he moved too fast. More than once he found himself reaching up to run his hands along the frames, marveling at how the tech there probably cost more than what Quentin made in half a year.

Tony watched him, catching the reverence in Quentin’s motions. A relieved smile pulled at his lips, happy to repay the debt that Quentin had given him through the Christmas gift.

Of course, gifts weren’t supposed to repaid, that was why they were gifts, and Tony, being the billionaire he was, was very used to receiving extravagant things. However, Quentin’s gift was one of a kind.

It wasn’t something Tony could put a price tag on, and he knew that he would rather lose all his posessions than lose his mother (again).

So Tony tried to give Quentin something new, something he had been planning to make for himself. A pair of glasses imbedded with an AI, access to tech, and the highest processing power possible. He didn’t tell Quentin that in case of an emergency, FRANCES had been given JARVIS’ piloting abilities and access to one of his suits.

If Quentin’s vitals were in the danger zone or if the man himself was caught in a sticky situation, FRANCES would summon a self assembling suit that Tony had designed himself, according to Quentin’s measurements.

But he wouldn’t tell Q about that part, since he knew he would reject it.

Tony was glad he liked it, though, so he sat back and flipped a wrench in his hand and basked in Quentin’s quiet company for a while longer, hoping that the suit would never have to be used.

In the other room, the suit stood proud, gleaming green and gold and lined with blue light, ready to do nothing but collect dust from disuse, just as Tony hoped.

Of course, Quentin didn’t know any of that, and was grateful for the gift as it was presented. 

Through the haze of contentment and relief, Tony should’ve realized that trouble would follow Stark technology, no matter the wearer. 

The suit wasn’t going to collect as much dust as Tony would’ve liked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want.... you can check out..... this quentony au I made.... of Star Wars....  
It’s in my quentony au series! (Linking it isn’t working I’m sorry) it’s called “starships and stormtroopers”
> 
> Tony: hey where’s frances  
Quentin, pulling it out of his ass: i keep that mf thang on me
> 
> Yes Steve is gonna be forgiven in this and they’re gonna be friends later don’t worry Quentin’s old man energy will resonate with him


End file.
